


The Seven Sins

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, But There's Modern, Dimension Travel, Family, Flashbacks, Fluff, I will not piut Fluff I will not put Fluff Iw ill not, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!""That's a Wither. I thought you remembered?"This man who approached him spouting out mythical nonsense nonchalantly brushes aside the fact that there was a literal charcoal skeleton trying to stab the shit out of him and his new friend."I thought you were joking!"A strange disruption between two very different worlds. A cross between Modern and Fantasy.The lines are blurring. That's a problem, ain't it?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Except for Canon Relationships, Platonic Relationships - Relationship
Comments: 17
Kudos: 87
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter One: Familarity

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fantasy vent because The Oh Hellos has taken over my peripheral vision I can't please listen to them I;m begingg y
> 
> There isn't a set main character POV, it just starts from Tommy. It's gonna alternate a lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seven Deadly Sins but its MCYT
> 
> It's not a short story
> 
> It's gonna be a long ride
> 
> **NOTE   
>  You have to listen to any song of the Oh Hellos to get the vibe until it switches into the Modern Era, where you put on WAP to really get that millennial mindset

_"Hurry!" The general barks at the rest of the knights, the clanking of metal rising along with his orders. The iron gates slowly descend and lets out a cloud of dust as it shuts and warrants any unwelcome guests to come through, after which, the sounds of catapults up above on the kingdom walls let out a heavy thud as it prepares to release the massive 200lb stones to the oncoming warriors._

_Archers that ready to plunge their arrows to the enemies' hearts with a single cry lined above the cobblestone walls, heavily-armored men with their glistening iron swords by their side on the low. The king who stood in front of the army in his walls who gleamed brightly among them due to the golden armor and the flaming insignia of his kingdom, his chin held high and his hand on the edge of the sword's handle. "Steadily, soldiers," the king says, "we wait till' the outward defense will fall!"_

_Their first defense being 500 men, the second being 1000 and ballistas. Impossible for even the richest nations of the land to break through._

_But this wasn't a nation. Only a single file of unyielding, mythological tyrants who slayed briskly through the infantries intended to end their lives. Like a woven thread in a tapestry, they altogether worked in harmony and if they were not covered in the blood of different human lives, it would've been a beautiful choreography._

_"Protect the Beacon with your lives! They shan't break the heart!" The general shouts, raising his sword for inspiration in the most uncertain circumstance. "Yes sir!" They replied by withdrawing their swords pointing to the skies._

_The king nodded, leaning towards his general. "Under the event they take my life, activate the beacon," he whispers._

_The man's eyes widened. "Sire, that's impossible. Your army surely is--"_

_"-- not enough," the king's tone cautious and paranoid. "A kingdom as plentiful as ours will only overpower kingdoms, not bloodthirsty fables."_

_The sound of a the third horn, a sound that none of the people had wanted to hear, thunders over the smell of iron and gunpowder._

_"Remember my words in honor of my death. We can't let them win."_

_The walls cracked once as the metal barrier had been rammed with a strong force. Everyone behind the walls shudder in fear and anticipation._

_The gate was hammered once, and plentiful debris and metal falls apart along with the dust._

_Then one last pulse demolishes the last protection they had between the beasts and the soldiers, and they could only wait in terror as the dust began to settle._

_They hear a comment, a sarcastic comment through the clouds of their fallen walls. "You'd think for murderin' the Wither, they'd be well prepared for us."_

_The low deep voice drove fear straight into their bones, confirming the myths that stood before them and craved their heads on a burning pike. Well, burning heads on a pike wasn't their style, but death is what they came for and death is what shall be received._

_The blood of their men had glistened on their skin like makeup, but the king still made his way over with his chin held high and his sword in his gloved hands. One of them raised his illuminating crossbow to aim and shoot the confident look of the king, but curiously, his partner lifts his axe to halt the onslaught. "You're willing to talk," the masked being states._

_The king knew that they could smell the fear radiating off the facade. "Yes."_

_He could feel the smile underneath the smiley painted on the wooden mask._

_"Though, there really isn't anything to say, is there?" The deep voice murmurs, the gleam of the sword enlaced with assorted gems and bones threatening to slide the ruler's neck. "What will you say for the price of your actions?" Another chimes in._

_"I... You do not hold the title of the universe, therefore... nothing has been dealt wrong."_

_"Have not realized that what you've said is completely and utter bullshit?" The youngest shouted._

_The compliant one nodded. "Break off the enchantment, and we'll spare the rest of your lives. The flow of the universe shall not be disrupted by a greedy mortal such as you."_

_"... Spare? You've killed without a second thought of those who had families cowering in your presence. You hypocritical damnations!"_

_The flaming arrow was shot through the armor and through his chest the moment he raised his sword against the seven tyrants._

_The moment the king had fallen, a cry of anger and justice arose through the air. Clashing weapons, and falling bodies. The general, however, was no where near to be found._

_A beacon of light shoots from the castle._

_Then not even for a chance of another inhale, everything goes white and numb._

"Shh, shh. Guys look -- he's daydreaming again!"

Four teenagers huddled close to gossip underneath their breaths. One brunette, two blonde, and the last being a noir snickered as the center of their attention continued to sleep soundly, sometimes moving his head for avoid an aching in his neck before breathing slowly once more.

A pop from the cardboard which held the white liquid ensued after an agreement between the group. The brunette tip-toes her way to the boy's desk before tilting the milk carton straight into his hair, laughing and shouting at him, "Wake up!"

The sleeping blonde boy jolts awake, hitting the cup away and accidentally slapping her cheek. She immediately holds her bruised face and wails and runs away from the half-awake lad who still had not idea what was happening.

"You jerk!" Her friends call out to him before running away for her comfort. The boy blinked once, then twice, then thrice before yawning and scratching his wet blond hair. "Fucking hell," he curses as he stands from his seat and began wiping his face, before using his jacket as a towel for the rest of the spillage.

"Can't leave someone to nap nowadays, is that it?" he grumbles, throwing the now-wet jacket aside with distaste, "fuckin' dicks you have to be, innit?"

Someone gave him a side glance at his foul language, another outcast such as he. "What are you looking at?" The blond asked.

"Keep the foul mouth and you'll never find friends," the random girl murmurs, then ignores the upcoming protests of the other teen as she continues to lay her head in her arms. Tommy scrunches up his nose in distaste before continuing his cleanup alone and bitter. The minutes that would soon release him from this hell would soon arrive, so the suffering mustn't last longer. 

As they say, however, that time treks slow when you're anticipating the future.

The teen did not want to stay longer in this embarrassing, wet, and putrid atmosphere. Packing up his bag - which was safely out of the milk splash radius -, then his wet jacket, he stood from his seat and left the room promptly without any more acknowledgements to the other five loners. He didn't really consider himself the outcast, but it seems like that title stuck with him from birth.

The last day of school, it was, before he would transfer into university. He had pulled a facade of popularity as to not make his parents worry so that was one of the reasons why he had stayed a bit longer; he was going to make it seem as if he was saying his goodbyes and heartfelt farewells. 

People have always neglected to approach Tommy for a strange reason despite him being an open-book. He gets mad and shows it when he curses, he gets joyful and shows it when he bounces. The way he scrunches up his nose and barks when threatened with little to no control didn't exactly point to his person as a reserved one.

No friends? It was boring and lonely, but it was tolerable. 

Taking a shortcut through some trees, Tommy decided to use the breeze to dry the milk on his clothes and hair, promising himself to take a shower after to wash the stickiness of the lactose away. He lived in this town for a his entire life and it was just too boring for his tastes. 

_People would underestimate his abilities with his vulgar behavior, however, his grades were well maintained, and he wouldn't start any riots unless pushed to his brim of patience._

_(But his cup of self-restraint was smaller than average so really it was not difficult to cause a spark within him. But then again, he had dignity of controlling the outburst unless needed.)_

A squirrel passes by, sniffs the clothing on the branch, then runs away to hustle more nuts for the seasons up to come. Tommy simply continues to swing himself higher into the oak trees, higher and higher into the vibrant green bushes, sometimes spouting a curse when the twigs poke his face. Just the money-instincts of seeing a tree and simply climbing it was running through the gears of his head and only that until he realizes the predicament he was in.

He's climbed a lot higher than he was used to. The infinitesimal ground didn't look too appealing if he was honest.

Tommy pops his head out of the leaves before popping it back in. The grass should slow down his fall like other times, surely.

He leaps from the branch and tilts his body so that his legs would fall first, then in which he would body-roll, and then escape the cage of leaves and branches without much injury.

Except for the event in which he does fall, the hem of his shirt was snagged by a thick branch, causing him to fall instead as a pancake - straight upon his face.

He hears someone, no, rather a group of voices other than the whisper of the wind and the scurrying of the animals enter his ears. He quickly lifts up his grass and dirt covered face with eyes in surprise.

"Oh for crying out loud, leave me alone!" He cries out to them in anger. The girl he slapped earlier along with her friends were pointing at him, mocking him, and even daring to pull the jacket resting on the tree into their grasps with their dirty hands. Tommy quickly brushes away the debris and stands, towering everyone by a few inches, and growls, "Give it back."

The boy who held it teasingly waves it close to the ground with every speck of grime making Tommy flinch. "Thomas, Tom, Tommy."

"Choose one mate, or I'll get angry."

"Such an outcast that you are. Are you really willing to fight against us four?"

"Who said fight? I'll get my jacket back with none."

The jacket he reaches for was pulled backwards. "Come on Thomas. Let's play for a while before we leave for University-- speaking of... where are you going to?"

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek when another failed attempt of obtaining the jacket occurred. "None of your business! Give me my jacket. Please."

"They say that you've been accepted to MCC University," he scowls. "A troublesome lad like you?" Another whispered.

"What? Applied and got rejected? That's what all this taunt and mockery has been about?" Tommy spat back and tries to whisk the jacket away once more. "Just leave me alone you rabid dickheads. I've got MCC to work with."

Someone punches his face. Despite the tall stature, his poor posture and lack of balance causes him to fall backwards and unto his bottom. He lets out a cry of surprise and wipes away the blood crawling down his now-broken nose.

"He's like your lil' brother, ay. The weird ones get accepted to that college," they throw his jacket next to his side which coincidentally a muddle, leafy puddle was dug there. Oh how great his anger was when he sees his favorite merchandise jacket ruined.

Like a radiating pulse inside of him, a power underneath the thin skin of his fingers. Just one tear would unleash it.

If he just closed his eyes and imagined a power to dispel these assholes... would it come true?

"Ha! What's the lad doing? Closing his eyes like a baby bout to cry?"

Just underneath the skin... just a tear. It felt electrifying.

The winds around them grew wilder but none paid attention. The girl, the one that still had a bruised cheek, took a step back at the uneasy silence coming from the usually rampant boy.

_It wanted to rip through his flesh._

"I-I have to go. Sorry..." The girl nervously says. "I need to cook dinner..."

_It wanted to rip through their flesh._

"Right when we're having fun?" Her friend mused.

A switch was visualized. What happens if he were to flick it?

"Sorry guys..."

Tommy stands up. Everyone notices. 

He couldn't control anything.

Then there was a huff, a puff around and behind Tommy. Someone has come through the woods as well. This caught him off-guard.

"Sister dearest," the voice calls out, "mother has been looking for you!"

A boy calls out to one of the perpetrators. The girl who'd been injured from Tommy's accidental slapping seemed to immediately turn displeased and quickly runs up to him. "Toby, did you follow us?"

Tommy turns around and sees the him nod ashamedly. "...I-I wanted to um, well it was already past school hours and... I thought mother dearest would get--"

The girl audibly and purposely sighs before turns to her friends. "I'll get going. Goodbye everyone. Goodbye Thomas."

"Wait, isn't this the annoying brother you were talking about earlier?" A hand stops both of them from leaving. "Why are you leaving first when you wanted to get revenge on Tom right here and then before he leaves forever? Wasting time, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry but I don't feel like it anymore."

Tommy senses another fight about to spur up between the toxic friends. He obviously did not want any part of the fight and the strange sensation... the sensation of losing control was absolutely frightening. So quickly, he grabs his jacket, before running away into the darkness of the bushes and towards his home.

He didn't hear any yelling directed towards his escape luckily. But then a thought comes into mind, before using his stamina to run back to the area.

Then quickly, he whips the muddied jacket at the three pushy friends, laughing at their screams of shock. "Get that you bastards!" He cries out before running away. 

He escapes and reaches his home, confining himself and dropping all his belonging on the ground with a tired sigh. Parents were not home and were for groceries as evidence on the post-it note on the table so they didn't need to see his ragged appearance.

Only if he could have a break. But University was crawling close, and if anything, it was something that he wouldn't miss.

But maybe... he should clean himself first. 

That is also an option.

...Also might be the best.

They say that the stars are the same for your entire life. Is that so true? "Worship, pray, and keep faith," was all that was said and done in the minstrel. "Brew, obey, and chant," was all that was done in the cathedral. "Duck, lie, and stay out business," was all that the priests have done.

Priests, oh those priests. They had a bad name, a bad reputation, but for Thomas, they were the only thing that he ever had.

His parents? They swore loyalty to the church and dropped him for the old hypocrites to groom into another sightless follower for their writings.

The magic? It was all just show. Fake. A play. Even the high clerics told him that using a sprinkle of glowstone, a dash of gunpowder, and a little bit of staging would replicate the runes of Light to help heal the poor gullible folks who didn't know the recipe.

But hey, the money they receive isn't so bad. Thomas loves to grab a handle or so to place underneath his robes for a snack at the market. Apples are sweeter when a bit of sin embeds underneath the red skins.

_Magic was a gift that only the strongest of the orchard can use. Only a select breed of life can use magic without dying or being cursed, as magic was like coating your hands with fire-resistance to play with fire; it would harm your life energy if you were to mutter a single spell if you were unworthy._

"We are only believers of God," the high priest said to Thomas, "But if our enemies were to know that as well, then the protection over this town will be no longer have effect. That is why we must uphold the Cleansing, and that everything must be perfected."

Thomas nods and receives the decorated weaved basket.

"I trust that you, child of Mary, that you may venture for the mushrooms. Come before sundown."

"Yes, High Priest."

Thomas did not know the name of the High Priest and that is how uninterested he was from this strange life. It is also how he ended up in this smelly part of the town with flies, fleas, and fuckers swarming around the civilization. Rotten muggers and crooked-teethed beggars would flock to the young lad for a bit of coin in which Thomas gives silence as a rejoinder, only clutching the velvet sack of gold closer to his pure white robes.

The reason why he wore his cleric outfit was because you get discounts by 75%. "Thank you for protecting our town," the kind missus would smile as she gave him his buttercups and foxgloves. "It's God's Will," Thomas replies underneath his breath.

There was a stand that Thomas was particularly interested in, actually. The butcher's stand would display their earliest, biggest catch for everyone to see as they walk past; basically advertising how dependable the butcher is. Thomas was wondering what prized animal was shot at the break of dawn and hanged for the maggots to feast on, what foul blood that would hit his nose, and how'd the innards of the animal would look like as it strings down messily unto a carpet.

"A boar!" He says to himself in surprise when he reaches that part of the market. The butcher, who was cutting the animal down from his hanger stopped midway when he hears the excited response from the apprentice. "Why must you take it down?"

The man was pale-faced. "Got' a bear in back," he mutters, "much more impressin' than a simple pig."

The assistant for the butcher, the butcher's son, pipes in and says, "lies, pa'. Tommy! Guess what? Blade was sighted out er' close to town!"

The Blade. Thomas gapes his mouth in shock, but instantly regrets the taste of rotting iron hitting his tastebuds. "No way!"

"Yes way!" 

Thomas looks at his basket. "..Ay, I got mushrooms on my list to pick. I heard those are much fresh in the wild than bought."

Now, the butcher's son raises a brow in question. "Heard you might die if you don't choose em' correctly. Don't think that's a good choice."

"I'm confident in my mushroom-picking skills," Thomas smiles. "I'm a cleric."

"Alright sonny, better skedaddle before I lose customers. And a word of advice, I know what you're tryin' to do." The butcher glares. "The Blade ain't a feller that should be friendly-friendly with. I kill bears, drag'ns, and l'ns fo' a livin'... but if I'm takin' down a prized catch 'cos of a druid, then know that They ain't just nothin'."

Thomas swallows a squeak at how threatening the voice became. "W-What are you implying?"

The butcher's knife glinted in the owner's hand as he chopped the boar's skull right in half, spraying the ground with blood. "I'm saying," the words emphasized, "don't search for Them."

"..." 

That occurred roughly a few sand in the hourglass ago. Now, Thomas was walking through the forest with basket in hand and following the trail for some brown mushrooms. Some looked fishy, some were red, some had orange spots; Thomas decided to pick all of them since he thought that they only needed the brown parts and could be easily cut off, leading to higher efficiency right?

He smells something strange in the forest. It was familiar and foul, like the animals butchered up in the market. Thomas thought for a second; can I bring this to that butcher and get extra coin?

_(If you're reading this and DO smell something of that sort, please walk away and pretend it never existed [I'm pretty sure that's a body and you're next] )_

He chops through the branches, the musk slowly getting stronger with every harsh whack. Then the buzzing of flies was heard, then eventually seen through the foliage looming around something on the floor.

Thomas gave one last hack with a tired wheeze, then there he saw the mush.

It was mushy. The skin WAS mushy. The eyes were sunken in deep into the sockets, like it melted right through. There was clotted black lumps around the holes of the eyes, nose, strangely opened mouth. The tubes of their insides, what did the butcher call it? the intestines were spilled and decorated the grassy mud like flowers. Heart, liver, stomach... it looked different compared to a platter due to the maggots visibly crawling in and out creating pores that you could see through, and the bones covering the chest were visible and broken.

Thomas knew two things for sure: One, that obviously can't be taken back to the market. Two, that body definitely belonged to a human man.

He covers his mouth to not excrete his breakfast and lunch on the floor. Oh, the smell made him dizzy.

He looked around feeling unsafe alone in the dark woods. Even with the wildlife, the smell could lead to some troubles with wildlife, so Thomas decided to reach down into his basket and throw some lilacs to mask the odor that was retched and vomit-inducing.

"Those are Death caps, bud."

He sees a hand reach out and pull away a large brown mushroom from his basket. "Huh. All these 'shrubs are poisoned. You new out here?"

A pale, slightly pink faced man with long salmon hair tied halfway into a braid, and a crown enlaced with multiple jewels on the centers of the pointed tips laid on his head. A red royal cape hanged neatly on his broad shoulders - more toned, not muscled - and a ruffled napkin(?) tied round his neck with a strange translucent brooch clipped on the knot. A trident and a longsword decorated with *teeth* and sharp gems that Thomas has never seen before, but to the man's side was another ruffled napkin(?) on the hilt of the broadsword that was sheathed on his right side.

"What are Death Caps?" The young blond lad asks. The man purses his lips when he sees the attire of Thomas, scrunching up his nose as if he smelt another dead body laying around. "You're a priest or cleric in trainin', aren't you? How do you not know?"

Thomas takes note of his strange accent. "I-I don't like reading their scriptures. It's boring as hell."

It seems as if the man didn't expect the vulgar language. "Well, you shouldn't stay around here. You see that body? When its gonna turn sundown, it's gonna turn into an Undead and eat you."

"That sounds like bullshit," the youth replied briskly. "Those aren't real." The clerics never mentioned anything about that.

The man inspects another mushroom before throwing it to the side. "...Don't say I warned you. Have fun, kid."

The man, after throwing out most of the poisonous mushrooms out of the basket, disappears into the foliage and trees. Thomas sighs hoping that the mushroom stand was still open, before heading back from where he came from.

Only for the fact that he did not remember where he came from.

The trail? Gone, reduced to ashes. Senses of direction? Clouded by the decomposing corpse that was right next to him. Thomas tries to not piss his pants when he hears something rustling in the bushes and it was totally not due to the fact from the warnings of the strange pink-haired fellow that popped out of no where.

In fact, he wished that he asked a bit more questions such as where the trail was and what happened to the melting skinned man on the shrubs. Thomas feels something crawl on his shows and sees a white maggot, and out of bewilderment, he screamed and kicks the worm away.

... In which he accidentally kicks the body and now rotting flesh stuck to the tips of his shoes. "OH, this can't possibly get any worse!" He cries out, rubbing the pinkish-brown mush on his white boots on a root. 

He hears a groan. He assumed it came from himself.

But he feels something wet on his ankle.

It was a hand. The one thing that he confirmed was that the skin was indeed like jello, and then he screeched and kicked off the entire decomposing hand away, the remains of was touch him stuck like sap on a tree for his skin.

"HELP ME!" 

It growls, reaching for the silk emblem of his cleric robe but barely missing and leaving traces of skin left on the cloth. Thomas had all reason to throw the basket straight at its face and leaving behind the white cape into the mud to help get through the bushes.

The monster, as the darkness of the forest grows large, becomes stronger and sentient. A strange glow loomed inside its eyes, its head jerked for the trace of a living soul underneath the thorns of the trees. It gets on all fours and lets out a ear-piercing screech before crawling like spider to the boy who was running away.

Thomas did not want to die. He didn't want to live the life like he was, but he did not want to die.

"OH!" He quickly reaches for a sharp stick and plunging it right when he could feel the thumps of its movement a meter behind him. It screeched in response to being stabbed in the brain.

He lets out a choked gasp went he sees it stumble.

Then it returns to chasing him.

He runs past a tree and kept running without ever looking back. His white linens no longer as pure as snow, his face with tears and snot running down his face, and the smell of a cemetery loomed on his nape.

He reaches a dead end. A cliff.

Thomas turns around, uneven gasping breaths every second, waiting for the creature to pop out of the bushes like he did. Should he jump?

He hears the screech behind the trees. His breath hitches. His eyes were screwed shut.

Then, it pops out, and leaps right towards him.

But a wall of roots cracks out of the ground and penetrates whats left of the corpse and turns it into a pincushion, before it returns with a crack to the ground.

"Hey, told you," a voice says as he walks to the corpse that laid limp on the ground. Thomas opened one eye and saw the man picking away at the corpse with one of the sharpest swords the cleric has ever seen, groaning in disgust before sheathing it back into its leather coverage. "You lost or something?"

"I-I. U-H"

"Speechless, eh. Step away from that ledge or you'll faint and my hard work would be for nothin'."

Thomas shakily stands away from the cliff, trembling when the corpse groans for a bit, before the man steps completely on its head, splattering the guts like mud across the ground. Then, the Undead became like a cloud of mist and was gone without any trace.

"What's your name, kid?" 

The words were dry on his mouth. "T-Thomas."

"For your stupidity, I'm callin' ya Tommy. Ever heard of listening to elders? No, wait." The man snickers. "You got lost, didn't you."

Thomas didn't reply. He feels the man slap his face lightly, patting it until he got annoyed enough to push it away. "There you go, back into the real world."

This man used magic. He could feel it under his fingertips, the electrifying heat when magic succumbs into the air. Thomas never seen anything like it, nor had he ever seen this man.

It made Thomas respect this kingly character.

"W-Who are you?"

The man, lazily brushes his own hair out of his face, his long eyelashes fluttering as he stares down with oak orbs. 

"Techno," the man's deep voice rang in the air. "Techno Blade." 


	2. Chapter Two: Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcolepsy: A condition where someone suffers from sudden sleep attacks during the daytime. Basically, you fall asleep at random periods of the day. 
> 
> It's pretty dangerous, like what if you have this and you're driving?
> 
> Schizophrenia: A condition where auditory and visual hallucinations occur, usually paranoia and anxiety are also present.
> 
> That's kinda not cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night time updates are common

First day of university and it was not looking so swell.

First off, during his ride on the busses, a high man sat awfully close to where his seat was for 75% of the time souring the air with fumes of probably illegal substances. Second, not a single woman acknowledged his great presence and, dare he say, even turns away when he's into view. And third... well, third has not revealed its tribulations yet but Tommy just knows that it will be a troublesome event that will ruin the first day even further.

Luckily, the dorms were clean and well-kept, and the space and freedom were outrageously amazing. He didn't have any roommates nor will get any as well. It could also be soundproofed if requested and paid extra.

The moment he step off the bus, placed his stuff in the dorm, then headed to his class, he felt pretty elevated. MCC University was like the Harvard of Earth, the cherry of the lemon jelly beans; it was the best of the best of the best.

"That's what they say," the nice professor said in the stage. "We have high expectations for all of you!"

Sir Phil was one of the nicest lads that anyone could ever meet and Tommy was glad that he gotten him as a teacher over... Mr. HBomb. He heard that the graphics professor was strange and downright uncomfortable at times.

Classes were over before he knew it. _He didn't know that classes could be enjoyable_. He felt as if he belonged.

But that quickly changed when someone decided to walk up to him as he was packing all his books into his bag. A tap on the shoulder quickly freezes him in his spot and he turns around quickly with widened eyes, clearly not expecting for anyone to talk to him at all today.

This lad seemed awfully familiar. Uncomfortably too familiar for his tastes.

"'Ello. I'm Tubbo," Tubbo waves his hand with a bright smile.

_Nope, nope. NO._

Bad memories began to wash over Tommy like a tsunami, and he pales. This was the brother of that woman he accidentally slapped, and dear god he would rather die than to ever confront anyone from his old school. MCC was supposed to be a fresh start! It was going alright!

.. _.Then Tubbo shows up. Dear god, not Tubbo._

"Um," the brunet shifts his foot, "you looking kinda lost there. Remember me? My sister? A couple months ago--"

Tommy interrupts. "I have no idea who you are and you must have the wrong person."

"U-Um, no," he says with a smile, "I'm pretty sure your name is Tommy or..."

"Thomas."

"Oh! Thomas, yeah. Or Tom, or Tommy... I just went with Tommy since I heard you gotta stick to one or you'll get pissed off."

Tubbo was pretty weird. Did he actually remember that line from a few months ago? Why would he even remember something so insignificant.

Tommy breaths out a gust of air, puffing up his cheeks. "Listen; I didn't mean to ever hit your sister, alright? I'm a man, ladies man to be in precise, and I would never hit a woman! Ever!"

The boy didn't seemed too surprised. "I know. Sister dearest explained to me she felt embarrassed and it didn't hurt too much, but she never intended to cause literal harm to your belongings and your... nose." Tubbo didn't seem distraught or mad at him at all. "Actually, I'm here because you saved her! I really am grateful for what you've done."

 _Saved_? "Saved?" Tommy asks extra confused.

"Y-Yeah! You went back and hit them with your jacket which gave us time to runaway back home. We never saw them again," Tubbo states proudly. "You really changed my life and my sister's. Now we stand up against customers who are being dicks at Tesco."

Tommy knew that it was a compliment, but he didn't know how to feel at the remark. "... Thank you?"

"Here," he gives him a bag of carrots, "you're about to go on lunch? Mind if we walk together?"

"Uh, ok. I'll put my stuff back in dorm then, you should also."

Tubbo blinks as if he suddenly feels the weight of the books in his hands _(poor lad forgot his bag at his room)_. "Aha, yes. You got a dorm too? Let's walk to the dormitories together."

After waving a farewell to good ol' Phil, the two young teenagers walked out the door and into the open campus of MCC. Other freshman students were already chatting in groups, or would eat alone underneath a tree or on the benches. The older college students were also out mingling along with close friends or meeting with other people, and professors were chatting how tired their lives are.

As Tommy and Tubbo headed to the dorms, he realizes that the other was walking on the same path as him. "Oh, you're also in building B?" Tubbo asks. Tommy hums in reply.

When they entered the dorm, he realizes that Tubbo was going on the same floor as well. "Cool! We're both on the fourth floor. We can walk to Phil's class together." Tommy nods in reply.

Then they both walked in the same direction of the hallway. "... A bit uncanny, innit."

Then they both stopped at the same time.

"Wait," Tommy said, "wait a fucking sec here. Tubbo, are you just following me or are you..."

Tubbo glances at the door across from Tommy's and Tommy glances at the name written next to the door number.

"We're neighbors! Isn't this cool Tommy?" The boy excitedly asks.

 _Neighbors_. Tommy refrains from being rude and letting out a sigh since he could never run away from his old life now that Tubbo's literally in his sight at all times, before simply nodding and unlocking his dorm room. "Well," the blond boy said with pursed lips, "lemme just arrange this and I'll be out."

"Me too!"

The moment the door hit the lock, Tommy drops everything on his desk and exhales an exhausted breath. Only the first day of class and he was already worn out?

No, he isn't tired. _That's impossible._

He looks at the bag of carrots on top of his graphical design book and takes it. After all, it'd be a waste to throw it away now.

Tubbo was already outside waiting with his student ID - the ID would allow students to buy lunch from the dining hall for free - and Tommy checks his pockets to make sure he had his before walking down the hallway with his new friend. "Oh, you brought the carrots," the brunet says as they walk down and out of the dorms. "I'm not gonna let carrots rot in my room," the blond scoffs.

They had a small conversation about vegetables (well, how did they start talking about that?) until they arrived to the packed-to-the-brim cafeteria and barely making their way to the line. The entire thing looked like an airport; the large glass panes that replaced the walls to help the light in as they dined, the multiple tables and bar tables that had many use for their lunch break, and the loudness of the enthusiastic sports kids and band alike scattering and dispersing the noise level evenly.

"You'd think that for a prestigious University," Tubbo says, "they'd be more organized."

Tommy laughs. "Kids are kids, Tubbo."

"Yeah, are we kids?"

Tommy shakes his head. "No. We are men."

After getting a hotdog - Tubbo got a PB&J sandwich - they decided to sit at a table that was yet to be populated with, giving them a much more quieter space to talk about their classes. Tubbo had engineering, computers, and Home EC. Tommy had psychology, computers, and English.

"Cool. We got computers with Mr. Mumbo," Tubbo scans over the paper while eating his sandwich. "I think that's for tomorrow," Tommy adds, "So we only share one class every day."

"I think that's neat," the brunet chews.

A crash was heard from the other side of the cafeteria, making all heads turn at who would've caused the large disruption.

Screams of concern erupted from females, maybe some guys too but the piercing cries were much more audible, and the body of a boy in a blue sweater laying slumped on the floor while someone was holding him up. The cause of the crash was a metal tray that fell splat to the floor and spilling the contents all over, and the professor was already on his way to assist whatever was happening in the center. The person who was holding the passed out guy was frantically calling for someone but it was difficult to hear over the chaos, but Tommy could make out the words, "Dream."

Tubbo gaped. "Is he dead? How riveting on the first day."

Tommy would've commented on the questionability of his words, but then he hears a smooth voice speaking that joined their conversation. "No, that's George. He suffers from **narcolepsy***."

A man with a red beanie and a guitar strapped to his back with fluffy bangs that protruded out his head. He wore a pastel orange sweater and blue jeans. Around his shoulder was a pair of earphones strapped to a walkman that was probably older than Tommy and Tubbo. _A vintage, indie lad was all that he could get from by appearance._

"He's a popular senior that's babied by literally everyone," the suffolk accent hums, "but it's easy to understand when you meet him. The guy holding him? That's Sapnap, a junior. He's his best friend. A tough lad that's chill most of the time, so don't be afraid."

Someone in a bright green sweater appears into view, rushing through the crowd to get to his friends. "That's Dream. He's intelligent and logical, so if you need any help from him, don't be afraid to ask. Also a junior."

"Oh, thank you," Tommy said, "and you are...?"

The man brushes his bangs aside and pushes up his glasses. "Wilbur. Just call me Wilbur," he smiles.

"Wilbur?"

"Strange name, innit. Alright Thomas, I have classes in thirty minutes, so great job meeting with you and clearing up any confusion with what happened right here."

Tommy nods, before his eye brows scrunch up. "How'd you know my name's Thomas?"

"Aha. Ah. Oh."

The smile falls off the man's face. "Well, see you later. Good day to you and Tubster."

The man disappeared as quick as he appeared. Tubbo had also caught the oddness of this certain man, and turns to Tommy in question. "You know him?"

Tommy hesitates but he continues to drink down a can of cola, wiping his mouth when he finishes. "No," the kid said, "but damn, he feels familiar."

"If love truly existed, then you wouldn't be here."

His mother would tell him to his face every single time another suitor is turned down. This time, it was the princess of the northern oceans, who was also forced in marriage for the benefits of the kingdom.

He didn't want love, he wanted to be free. Love isn't free.

His heterochromia eyes blinks away the oncoming tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks and ruin his makeup, his teeth nibbling the insides of his cheek. He had to sit there and be pretty, say yes or no to the benefits if he married this person. Like a porcelain doll, an item that had no thought and only value.

"Did I conjure you out of love? No," his mother spat, "this kingdom needed a king. And your sister is not capable of doing that job, can it?"

She referred her own daughter as an item, he notices. "No, mother."

The servants move at every wave of her hand, mindlessly pulling away items and the gifts that was brought before the throne. "With your father fallen ill and on his death bed, you must find a princess to take up his role before your 18th birthday. That old man won't last longer for another moon," her face morphed into a pleasant scowl at the mention of the certain death. "You're to have a queen once he passes so that this kingdom may not fall under the weight of all your terrible father's unpaid debts."

She stands from her blue royal seat, whispering things to her personal maid before shooing her away and stepping down from the steps. The waves of her dress flutter with every level lower, her hair as dark as the night bouncing with every movement on her shoulders. Her face, stone cold, and her personality, even colder than the north wind.

No words were exchanged for he already knew that this will be the same routine over, and over, and over again.

And so when the moment he was left alone in his chambers, he weeps. A weak trait that was not fit for the king but it was the only thing that comforted him in his times of need, better than the sister that hates him to the core and a mother who never thought of him as a human. Better than the father that only appeared to scowl and commentate how effeminate he looked and better than the priests that touched him in ways that they shouldn't.

He hated everyone. Oh, the hatred within him wanted to curse this entire monarch to hell's hottest volcano.

But a weak man that he was, for he could only look pretty and do nothing.

After crying, the prince washes away the leftovers of makeup and tears and grime, before grabbing a random cloak out of his wardrobe. He reaches for the thick jute that he created over the past days, before dropping it out his window and tying the jute to his bed's leg, then slowly descending from the make-shift rope with ease.

He carefully makes it through the hole that he dug underneath the walls - basically a small tunnel at this point - and finally, makes his way out the forest and into the village entrance.

It was a tiring journey and risky one especially, but it was always worth the effort. The simplicity of folklife and the happy chattering of contented villagers was music to his ears. Sometimes, foreigners and travelers would display their skills to the town and perform plays, rituals, or even sell something new as long as they permission to do so, and George couldn't wait to see it.

"Oh!" He cries out as he accidentally stumbles upon another, but their build was sturdy enough to catch him before he fell. "I'm sorry," his hushed apology laced with paranoia was given to the poor stranger that he had collided with, expecting a large hand to easily punch him to the ground. Instead, he hears a soft gentle laugh.

"Nothing to worry about, lad," the man, obvious of foreign descent. He helps George to stand on his own two soles, ensuring that he wouldn't fall again, before releasing his hold. "You're, um, not from here," the prince was taken aback from the gentleness.

The man whose face was obscured by the shadows of his hood hums. "Actually, I'm much used to warmer temperatures out. It's a shock to see how cold it is."

"It is... colder. Yes."

He lowers the tone, pitch, and sincerity of his voice as he leans closer to George's ear. "And yes, guessing from looking at your soul, you're the pretty little bird that's gonna rule this kingdom soon? Prince George, son of Henry?"

The man pulls back with a teasing smile on his face. "Don't worry if you think I'm a snitch, prince. I don't snitch on poor ol' folks like you."

George was speechless. "You," he stutters. "How do you know?"

"I'm a wizard. Would you like to learn magic?"

An adventure? "I-I do. But... But magic is banned here. How can I learn to be a wizard without freedom?"

The man pats him on his shoulder. "Well, I'll be honest. You can't. And that's why I'm askin' you one thing and you gotta answer me right here or now; it's a deal that's only available until you walk away. You must give me something valuable in exchange for knowledge."

"... My crown?"

"No, no. Much more valuable than that... In fact, how about I take it right now? You won't ever know until I'm dead." His gloved hand slid under George's hood and right on top of his fluffy head, sending chills when the coldness touches his scalp. "In exchange for wizardry and magic stuff, you're gonna follow me and stop with all this royal bullshit. I'll teach you everything I know and we will learn more together, in exchange for your heart. Soul, not physical. Got the gist?"

Too excited to listen any more, George nods erratically. "Yes."

"Damn. Didn't expect you to be energetic. I'm taking away a big part o' you since I lost something as well, so it's only fair if you lose something to. Law of equivalent exchange yada yada. Alright bud, let's go before you start looking weirder than ever."

George blinks. "Why?"

The self-proclaimed wizard smile gets wider. "You know why I chose you?"

"I'm... Prince?"

"No, no. Only those worthy or stronger can see through the cloak of invisibility. And clearly, you're talkin' to me. Now, no more questions; do you want freedom?"

The adventure that he was longing for did not expect to be started in this fashion; it was different compared to the books that he read by the window for the many years in his castle. But there was no complaints or excuses said.

George, the prince of North Eastern Bleu, did not waste a second chance in accepting the hand extended to him. The hand he thought would lead him to another life out of this golden cage, and the hand that would teach him things that the scriptures failed to recite.

He thought that hand was freedom. That was his first mistake.

Close your eyes, lay your hand on the base of your nape, count to seven, and you will arrive in the other world. 

Those with the key can see things that should not be seen. Monsters of unimaginable horrors. Creatures taken form of beings of afterlife. The cloud of death can be seen, and the souls that are forever succumbed to the mist.

Wilbur knew he was not of this world. He could see when someone is dying - his grandmother, for example, had a cloud of dark ashes before she went into surgery. She died a few minutes later - and he saw the deformed faces in the shadows of every forest he passes. They seem to only spawn in darkness, so no matter how reprimands he gets from his parents for leaving his lights on when he sleeps, Wilbur will always stay in the light.

The shadows and monsters over the years, got more opaque. They started speaking, groaning, crying. Wilbur has to ignore them by playing his guitar, or sing until his voice got rough because the more he listened, the more he succumbs to them.

He was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He knew that was wrong when he could still see them even under the influence of medicine. They simply did not see the truth, they could not see through the protective shield on the soul's eyes. In Wilbur's case, he did not have a shield at all.

An outcast by his friends and family, he turned to studies and found himself in MCC University, one of the highest ranking institutions of the world. He rose through the ranks as a respected freshman, an ideal sophomore, a renowned junior.

Then on his fourth year, he sees through his third eye a strange cloud that he has never seen before. It was not a cloud of death - the colors were black, grey, and white - it was not the cloud of sin - purple, red, pink.

The colors were yellow like the sun. Like piss rain, but more pastel. _Piss? Lemons?_

It surrounded three people at once. Dream, a sports nerd. Sapnap, a feared boxer. And George, the princely twink.

He knew them since he has classes with Sapnap and George, and Dream was pretty well-known by the entire university already, but to think that this mist surrounded them like an ephemeral glow was confusing even for Wilbur who had powers.

_Oh wait, there's a black cloud right there. Wilbur wonders how that random student will die in a few hours._

Then there was a freshman, sitting on the table with another of his kind, eating a hotdog and oblivious to the mist that surrounded his character. The one that sat along with him did not have a glow at all, so why that blond specifically?

Wilbur has another ability. _He won't tell you, yet (it's a surprise tool for later.)_

Already awkward with people, he accidentally slips up his identity to Tommy. He didn't mean to say his real name, but then again, anyone could tell that his real name is Thomas since Tommy was his nickname. 

His class literally saved him and got him out of there before there was more trouble. Psychology was his favorite class and the teacher was nice, and the topics were interesting. 

But when he arrived, he didn't expect to see the mischievous blond kid in the back of the room next to his favorite seat, and clearly the blond kid didn't expect to see Wilbur as well.

They had an awkward eye contact. Wilbur purses his lips, but he decided that it wouldn't be too bad to sit in front of Tommy instead of being directly next to him.

Tommy, however, was bold enough to move his seat right next to Wilbur. 

"Uh..."

"Hello."

Awkward. "Nice day, innit?" 

Tommy bursts out into laughter before immediately shutting up as he realizes how loud he was. "Sorry, I didn't know you were taking this class. I didn't expect to see you this soon."

Tommy nods, and Wilbur couldn't help but notice that the mist moves along with his movements. "Er, you didn't have anyone that sat next to you, right?"

"It's the first day. Of course no one has chosen this seat," the brown curls bounces upward every time he talks. "So you're an outcast like me, eh? I read you like a book, though I don't clearly understand why you're not exactly favorable."

Tommy widens his eyes. "I wonder wonder how you do that," he mumbles, "but yeah, I guess. But I'm not a trouble maker and would prefer to not try being one if you're trying to coax me into a bully group."

Wilbur shakes his head, his bangs bouncing side to side. "Outcasts can spot outcasts. I'm like that weird kid out 'ear, since well, I have mild schizophrenia."

"Oh. What's that?"

"You see shit that people don't see. Hallucination, audible and visible," Wilbur pushes up his glasses once more, "hopefully I didn't scare you off. Many people get weirded out when I tell them about this. They think I might jump them or something of the sort."

Tommy laughs nervously. "Nah, no! I mean, I'd get bullied for daydreaming so I don't really... judge."

"Not exactly equivalent to my hubris, but I get what you're saying."

Psychology class ensues. It easily rose to Tommy's favorite class list, not above his graphical design since Mr. Phil was a great teacher, but it was definitely enjoyable to learn how others would think, how social groups would react, and how everything was based on environment.

Speaking of environment, Tommy enjoyed the class so much that he couldn't help but yawn and get lulled by the dull, monotone voice of the professor. His eyes were slowly getting heavier by each syllable, his breathing pace was getting slower. He knew that he had lower energy today but he didn't think he was all completely out of juice - embarrassing for a teenager like him - but napping was tempting at this current moment, and he couldn't fight it.

So placing up a book, he extends his arm on his desk, places his head in the crooks and closes his eyes.

"...Wilbur?"

The man stopped writing in his notes and turned to his seatmate. "Tommy? Are you--"

Tommy slurs his words. "Wake me up 'fore class 'nds."

"...What?"

He was too late. No response came from the blond boy who already fallen to his sleepy temptations. Wilbur lets out a quick exhale and a smile. 

"Sleep well, Thomas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited? I don't edit because my head hurts


	3. Chapter Three: Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of a story's dilemma. 
> 
> Mothbur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTICE: Slight, but not explicit Adult Themes like the S word in the beginning.
> 
> Seggs.  
> How to sex 2 - by Tom
> 
> i mean, the sin of Lust is here?

_The ethereal sword scrapes against a mirrored version of its own enchantments, however due to the physical strength that overpowered on one's side, the other could only cry out as they fall backwards and roughly against the grassy shrubs. His weapon falls down an arm's length away from his reach and the opponent points the acute tip at the throat, lifting up the chin slightly, before backing off with an amused and proud chuckle. "You did better than last time."_

_The curls of his blond short fringe bounce up while the young man stands and dusts off the excesses of his falling, meeting eye to eye with the onyx eyes of the beast. "Think so?"_

_The pink lashes flutter as the other turns away to pick up the decorated sheaths thrown carelessly on the grown with a small smile on his lips. "You didn't lose by getting impaled through the stomach; I'm calling that a win for certain compared to last rounds."_

_"Thank you big man," the blond accepts the coverage for his sword and slides the sharp blade into the leathery cloth, "That means a lot coming from you."_

_A clap comes from the sides and both turn their heads to see who enunciated the applause. "Well done! You think you're hungry enough for dinner, lads?"_

_"Phil I'm starving," the man's royal red cape swishes as he began to walk towards the smell of campfire and stew. "Ain't gonna wait for us, Blade?" The older calls out to his disappearing form, only to receive a grunt of agreement as a reply. "Leave some for us!"_

_The man then turns to the other and hands him a wool cloth to wipe off the grime and sweat off his body and face. He thanks the adventurer._

_"You've done quite well," the nomad says to the other as they followed the salmon-haired steps through the woods, "seeing how you aren't dead from any holes in your body."_

_"I mean, I am quite spectacular in combat. You should be proud of Techno to be able to defeat me-"_

_" multiple times."_

_"...once or twice. I don't consider this as real combat so I'm not putting up to my fullest potential."_

_The stubble-haired man glances at the pore glands that'd been leaking sweat since their combat, compared to the spotless and graceful look of the other experienced fighter. "Yeah... Of course. Oh great Thomas."_

_He hisses. "Sarcasm?" To which the man jokingly shakes his hand. "No, no. Of course not."_

_They push through the vines and bushes and reveals the life that bustled behind it. Though it was a temporary setup, no matter where they have gone, they (the musician and the young apprentice) would create the most homey camp with the supplies they had and the natural resources around them._

_ Toss a coin to your druid, O' valley of plenty.. _

_Now, the bard, William Soot - or preferably called by his friends, Wilbur - was singing his newest tale around the campfire._

_"The thing about Wilbur is that I can't tell whether his songs are true or not since he is with us," the artisan says to the teen, happily handing him a bowl for the stew that was broiling over the cauldron. "As much bullshit that sprouts out of his mouth, it's rather difficult to reveal the authenticity of his words. Here's a helping of rabbit carrot stew."_

_Tommy gulps it down without hesitation, not caring if he'll burn doing so. "Woah, starving rather?" The blond old man laughs. "You try fighting with the Blade," the soup gurgles in his mouth, "it's exhausting."_

_The man takes his own helping of soup, using a small wooden ladle to rest the liquid in his tongue. He hums in appreciation with the burst of chicken - people say rabbit taste awfully close to chicken -, tomato, starch, and savory broth hits his mouth. "Well, Tubbo surely gotten better at cooking, ay?"_

_"Tubbo made this?"_

_Speaking of the lad, he approaches with blood on his usual-apprentice apron, and a bowl of soup of his own and another. He was slightly shorter than Phil with slimmer shoulders, with fluffed brown tuffs of hair that spiked in some directions, and large doe-green eyes that have the world's curiosity in one glow. He radiated optimistic youth and great potential just by stance and his smile would burn bright._

_"Tommy!" the boy says joyfully, "Tommy, what do you think of my soup?"_

_"It's great," replies the blond, "but I bet that I could do this better."_

_Phil snorts and drinks his soup. "Oh," the brunet looked proud of Tommy's half-compliment, "I'm sure you can."_

_The background music, the bard's lute, stops abruptly when the apprentice hands the man his serving. "Thank you," his silky voice chants while merrily eating the soup, "you've improved, quite nicely Tubster."_

_Tommy refrains from huffing at the radiant beams of happiness coming from Tubbo. He looks around the well-built campsite for any signs of the pink beast who strangely walked ahead of them but disappeared out of their peripheral vision, raising an eyebrow at the odd circumstance. "Tubbo, by any chance have Techno ever appeared within your sights?"_

_"Erm, not so. I thought he was with you."_

_"He left ahead to eat before us. Strange that he hadn't appeared."_

_Speak of the devil, a large crack and thump on the ground startles all of them from their leisurely chat, making them all turn heads to where the cause was. "Just a branch!" A voice calls out to them from the leaves._

_"Techno?" Phil asks. "What're you doin' there, mate?"_

_The shapeshifting druid briefly cuts through another bush, waving off a leave that nested on his crown. A shadow loomed behind him, but before any of the four could attack, the pink-haired man raises his hand as to halt their actions._

_"Smelled something fishy," Techno remarks, "and found 'em in the bushes stalking our soup."_

_Large, ram horns that pointed from each side, and a sideburn that's infamous enough to know who the perpetrator was. "Hey guys! Nice to find you on my territory," the voice ecstatically claims, confidently walking out into the open-front._

_Tommy was quick to snarl, but Wilbur was faster to respond. "What are you doing here, Schlatt?"_

_"Nothin'. Nothin' much," the half-Satyr curiously walks over to the cauldron and puts his finger in it to quickly taste the soup, moaning in delight when his tastebuds get a taste, "so uh, hey. Long time no see. Do you have a mission or...? 'Cause I made a bargain and I kinda got in trouble."_

_"Classic Schlatt," Phil murmurs._

_"What kind of deal? With who?" Wilbur narrows his eyes warningly at the mischievous rascal. "Just another deal with a powerful person, you know, the classic ol' hit and run. Fuck and flee. Get laid and leave. Bang and buster."_

_Tommy and Tubbo gave each other the did-he-forget-there-was-children-here? look._

_"Sin of Lust, I live up to my name!" Schlatt laughs manically in delight. "Any who, I might have not conjured up some beef with the Witchress, witch slash princess blah blah. Said something about 'if I ever see her again' she'll, 'chop my balls and stick it on my horns like ornaments'. I thought that maybe you, the great Wilbur, could do something about that with--"_

_"I am NOT going to use my magic, Schlatt," Wilbur cuts him off, "and neither will any of us if you die. Remember? Sin-code number three?"_

_The ram rolls his eyes. "Well, what about old man Phil?"_

_Techno jumps in. "He isn't one of us."_

_Tommy sees one of his hands instinctively move closer to the decorated sheath of the broadsword. "Of course you'd defend Phil the moment he's mentioned," Schlatt nods, placing his hand up in defeat when onyx eyes stared a little too menacingly. "Alright, alright. You got me there... But 'nough about my sex-life - I've been told a nasty little rumor out here in the mountains."_

_"Rumor?" Wilbur asks. "What, a little birdie told you?"_

_His friendly tone hardens into importance, dissipating the friendly atmosphere almost immediately. "Sloth's been getting restless after placing a psychic in trance," Schlatt mutters, a frown displayed on his face. "A warning meant for all of us that involves the life that we now abide in. He's kinda... uh, on his own mission right now, but he told me to find you lot while he searches for Wrath and Glutton. That man really ought to have his own love-life," he harshly whispers the last part. "Well," Phil begins, "what's the prophecy?"_

_"If I could just remember properly..."_

Schlatt taps his horns, every click with his sharp nails and bone resonating loudly in Tommy's ears like an unbearable drum. He wonders why it was so loud.

" **The lands shall be struck by a power...** "

Tommy feels someone nudge him on his shoulder, and with a quick glance, he sees Wilbur.

" **where lesser evils find evil worse than they.** "

Tommy quietly mouths a 'what'.

"uh, damn it. How'd it go again? Shit. Uh... **two lives blurred into one**...?"

Wilbur nudges his arm harder. "Wake up."

"... **identities forsaken and thrown**."

"What do you mean, wake up? I'm awake," Tommy whispers back.

" **Only then shall light be casted...** "

"Wake up, Tommy. Tommy, the class is about to end."

"Class, what class?"

" **when the lines...** "

" _Tommy_!"

His eyes widened when a sudden force knocks him into the ground, his mind goes haywire from the sudden movement. Light hits his eyes as he sees everyone else but Wilbur fade into nothingness; the trees, the light of the campfire, the smell of stew, and his friends around him slowly morphing into nothing but a mush of colors.

" **...are marked...** "

Tommy widens his eyes. 

" **...as they should.** "

He hears his seat-mate grunt uncomfortably. Wilbur didn't mind since he himself was sometimes a vocal sleeper, especially during the nights when they get too loud.

But when he hears the heavy panting, and the sweating that glistened on his forehead with his eyes wrinkled into frustration, Wilbur also knew the signs of a bad sleep.

"Tommy?" He whispers while nudging on the boy's shoulder. "Tommy, wake up."

He hears a mumble that he could barely make out as, "wha' you mean...? 'm 'wake."

"Wake up," Wilbur urges again. 

Wilbur feels lightheaded from how the pale sunlight mist was spreading, brighter and brighter. It was suffocating.

He tugs on his arm with more force. "Tommy," he says, but a strange unfamiliar asthmatic feeling hits his lungs. He began struggling with his breathing, trying to wave away the mist that had became more and more present, more real and clogging. His muscles grew weak at the lack of oxygen in his body.

He began to see things. And it was different.

A forest, unfamiliar forests that he never visited before. A campfire crackling to his side. Tents, small crafting benches, and smithing tables laid in orderly fashions displayed around the area. 

Flashes of pink, bright pink catches his attention. Then the yellow. Then brown. Then white.

Wilbur couldn't breath.

Then suddenly, it all stops. Air rushes into his lungs instantly as if nothing ever happened. The back of the student's heads appears into his vision. The board and professor's words echoing into the dead quiet auditorium.

Tommy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, before groggily lifting his head and looking around in confusion. "Wilbur?" He asks. "You lookin' kinda... pale."

Wilbur has no idea what happened. "... Must've been the wind," he strains.

The boy narrows his eyes and scrunches his nose. "Your voice is also concerning. Did you scream till' your vocal couldn't take it anymore?"

"Tommy," his scratchy voice started. "What?" The blond asks tiredly.

_You're just like me._

Wilbur refrains from saying anything about what happened three seconds ago, as this was a topic that is best not be spoken of during a lecture. "Mind heading to my dorm after this? I've got something cool to show you."

Tommy, who has no idea what he was capable of, nods. "Alright. After class, then."

_After class..._

"Poor son. It must be embarrassing for a situation like that to occur," the medical staff lays a hand on her cheek and stares worriedly at the sleeping senior on the nurse's bed. "On the first day as well... He's lucky to have you lot as his friends."

His long slender fingers played nervously with the strings of his neon green hoodie, a coping mechanism that he's gotten over the years of wearing his favorite clothing. His eyes darted to the restful sleeping beauty on the bed before meeting the eyes of the nurse, his lips tightened to a straight line. "When's he going to wake up?" He asks.

The nurse picks up her clipboard. "Seeing how he's has this before, then around five to ten minutes he should wake up fine and dandy. Hum... You've said that he usually is disoriented after waking up, yes?"

"Yes," the dirty-blond haired student nods.

"Can you elaborate perhaps?" Her pen.

The man hesitates and ponders as he recollects his memory, his lashes fluttering downward as he closes his eyes. "Well, it's been a while since the last time it happened for this long, since usually it lasts for five minutes. The beginning of summer this year," his finger twirls the green strings, "but he's always had them since I've known him. After falling asleep, he'd wake up looking confused and out of the is world. Like for some reason, he doesn't recognize his surroundings for a minute or so before laughing it off and ignoring what he said earlier."

Her writing stops. "Oh. Quite a prankster, then."

"I don't know about that. Every time he does that, he acts and feels legitimate. He'd ask me what illusion has he been placed on, or what magic trick have I pulled up on him. But that's all he does when he wakes up and he doesn't do anything physical of the sort. Just a bit confused... so I was hoping that was part of his condition and it would've explained everything."

The pen was scribbling something on the page, her eyes concentrated on the lines. "... It is quite odd. Say, what did he do before he fell unconscious?"

His eyes glanced side to side. "Uh, well. I wasn't there but..." he sees the slouched, bored figure to his side, swiping up and down on his mobile device, "Sapnap knows."

The woman blinks when she realizes that there was another person other than the dirty-blond man. "Oh! Apologies. You were so quiet that I didn't even notice that you were here."

Sapnap's dark eyes glance from the screen to the woman's eyes. "You're talking to me?"

"Yes. Um, Sapnap, it seems as if you were with George before he fell asleep and I was hoping that you can explain the circumstance. Though it's not exactly 100% a cure as there is no cure yet, it'd help with finding the problem and possibly deter this event from happening again."

"Alright. Hm.." There were slight bags underneath his eyes, a noticeable lack of proper rest if it also weren't for his slow reactions. He had fluffy and slightly more wavier hair than of Dream's and George's, and his shoulders more broad. His style was e-boy centric; a black turtleneck with a larger white shirt worn on top, and baggy black jeans with checkerboard shoes. 

"We were talking about colors," Sapnap mutters. "Me and George always have heated discussions, passionate I guess. Um, but we never really get too heated up. He's not a very emotional person."

"Ah. It seems that he can be triggered by highly emotional courses," she nods, "which is part of the symptoms. Alright. Try not to get on his nerves too much, then? It'll be less frequent. I must get going now, but there's a bottle of water next to his side and please call for me when he awakens. I'll see you and him later, then."

Just like that, the nurse disappeared.

Dream sighs and his shoulders release their tension, turning to his other friend who slept soundly. "Man, I can't wait to tell George how he passed out in front of the entire university," he cracks a smile. "Dude, he'd get so pissed off that it might happen again," Sapnap snorts, "but it's hilarious."

"Shut up Sapnap. It was your turn to make sure his medication was taken," the dirty blond lifts his hand and ruffles up his own hair. Annoyed at his statement, the other said, "if you want something to be done, you best do it yourself. It wasn't even my fault by the way that he didn't take the pills."

"You know he's forgetful."

"Well so am I."

"You're unbelievable."

"But you love me."

Dream rolls his eyes. 

A small groan was heard on the bed, making both of them turn to the source. Brown eyes flutter open before blinking to adjust to the light, his hand quickly moving to shield his eyes. He groggily tries to sit up.

"George, wait," Sapnap tries to stop him from getting up too rapidly, "chill."

"Ugh, Sapnap?"

The man nods. "Yeah, yeah it's me. How you feeling?"

"Like hell," the strange accent was back, "do you have a bottle of elixir or something. I feel strange."

"Pff- Elixir?" The panda man snickered. "Too much games, man."

"This is no fretting nor frolicking matter, Glutton. And... where are we? Why have we dressed so strangely like commoners? What sort of..."

A hand rests on the brunet's head. "George. This isn't a dream anymore (haha Dream)," his fingers curled and pets his hair, "alright?"

George seems conflicted and in a daze. As if he thought about it more, the usual lightness in his posture and his furrowed eyebrows went away. He coughs, before a sheepish look appears on his face. "Oh, Dream. D-Did I just pass out in the cafeteria earlier?"

The normal, British/slightly American accent was back. "Yeah."

His cheeks were red. "Oh."

"Good to have you back to reality," Sapnap's sarcastically snorts, "or I would've had no one to help me with homework."

The most responsible one senses the beginning of their bickering and breaks it with a forced cough. "I'm going to tell the nurse that George's awake and we can have him discharged so we can eat or something since someone interrupted my meal," Dream narrows his eyes at Sapnap who he knew was fully capable of taking care of George himself, "so at least try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

"Yes dad."

"Okay Dream."

Dream pushes away the curtain that separated the beds, before exiting through the open door and down the hallway to the office. On his way there, he sees two people sitting in the waiting chairs and picking out a few books while they were waiting for the woman to come back to them.

"Miss?" He calls out. The nurse appears with a bottle of water and a pill in hand, looking surprised. "Oh, is he awake?"

"Yeah. He said he feels fine and that his medication was in his dorm," Dream explains, "so we'll get going. I didn't have lunch, yet."

"Right, right. You three can go now! I've already inputted your attendance in the data base, so don't worry. Now, excuse me I must give this to that man right there."

Dream steps back and sees his friends coming out the room. "We can go now. I think we should stop by that cafe for lunch, where Bad works."

"Sure. I'm starving," Sapnap yawns. George nods, before his eyes move to the two students that was interacting with the nurse. A tall man with curly brown hair and a younger blond who rivaled behind by a few centimeters. 

"Let's go, George," Sapnap tugs at his cheek teasingly before letting go. "Huh? Why are you spaced out again? Gonna pass out?"

George furrows his brows. "I... I feel like I've seen them. _Wilbur? ... Thomas?_ " He whispers their name under his breath.

"You've seen at least everyone in this goddamn university with your popularity," Sapnap says, "Let's go- I'm starving."

George looks away, annoyed by the usher. "Fine, fine."

The three passed by the other two, not sparing more glances as they talk about their future orders. 

However, the tall, lanky man did not allow the names that were muttered to go unnoticed. After drinking the sore-throat medicine, he thanks the nurse and leaves the perimeter with Tommy wallowing behind. 

"I wonder what's gotten your lungs all clogged up all of a sudden," the blond says obnoxiously and unknowingly. "Yeah," Wilbur quietly states while he glances to the three whose mist was brighter than the sun. He feels his throat seize up slightly.

"I wonder."

"Oh, you're back!"

They met up with Tubbo while he was entering his own room, books and bags stuffed in his hand. Tommy wonders why he brought a bag in the first place if he wasn't going to even use it for his books, but Wilbur cuts off his thoughts with an amicable wave and greeting. "Tubbo! How're you, man."

"Doing well. How about you, Wilbur?"

"Got a lil' cough but won't kill me yet, unfortunately. So that's your dorm room, huh."

Tubbo looks at his name tag written on the side before nodding. "Tommy lives right across from me too."

"I see," Wilbur sees the lad's name also written next to the door. "Coincidentally, I live right next to you, Tubbo. Strange how the arrangements for the students are, but its first come first serve."

The mention of his residence only abiding a few steps away makes Tubbo gasp. "We can have sleepovers!" 

"Well, according to the student handbook, we'll get reprimanded..." Tommy mutters. "Only if we're caught," Tubbo interjected. 

"That's the spirit," Wilbur laughs before making his way to his own room and unlocking it with his student ID - another cool feature to the card - and entering. "Tommy, I'd like to show you something."

Tommy nods and takes a step forward, but Wilbur stops him. "Maybe you should put your books away... It might get lost in here."

Tommy already envisioned a messy room. "Wait, can I join along your escapade?" The brunet asks curiously. Wilbur tilts his head and thinks for a second before nodding. "Of course you can join, Tubbo."

"I'll put away my things as well! Be right back."

They both didn't know what to expect when they entered Wilbur's dorm room. Certainly, they did expect the scattered music notes and torn pages of musical lyrics (seemingly original lyrics as well), since Wilbur strides along proudly with a guitar strapped to his back and an aura that radiated music nerd.

What they didn't expect was the vast number of night lights, lamps, festive lights, and all sort of electrical lighting that would rival the lamp store in the mall. "Welcome to my humble abode!" He said as if his entire room was literally not devoid of any darkness of any corner. Hell, there was even lights underneath his desk and bed.

Even for Tubbo who Tommy had a glimpse of inside his room - full of string and markings on the walls like a detective with pictures in movies- found it too strange for his tastes but did not speak any of it. "Nice room," was all that the brunet said in utter shock.

Tommy couldn't help himself. "If there was a human embodiment for moths, then this would be their dorm," he laughs.

Wilbur huffs. "I'd have you know that that comment is not true and never will be. Now, close the doors behind you. I've got something to talk about."

"Alright." 

After closing the door and making themselves comfortable in the uncomfortably bright room, Wilbur began walking around and turning off some of the lamps. "They don't spawn while I'm here," he explains his odd behavior, but he still leaves the Christmas lights underneath his bed. "Okay..." 

"Now, I don't want to hold you up for too long since you still got University work to do," the tall man takes off his guitar and lays it gently on a beanbag, "so Tommy, you know what happened earlier?"

Tommy tilts his head. "I fell asleep in class..." He pauses. "Are you gonna bully me or something."

"Not yet. So, what were dreaming of exactly? It seemed like you had a pretty rough.. time."

Tommy seemed confused. "No, no! I didn't have a bad dream or anything. And I never move in my sleep either. I have no idea what you are speaking about.

Wilbur was surprised. "Oh. Oh. Well, what were you dreamin' of, then?"

"Promise you don't laugh."

Wilbur looks at himself. "It's not erotic or anything like that, hopefully."

"What kind of person do you take me-" Tommy raises his voice before stopping abruptly with a sigh. "Whatever. It's just some mythical fantasy story that I've been building on since I was a kid. Just the same old characters in different places with every dream. Not even sure there's a timeline or meaning to it, so what's gotten your feathers all ruffled up?"

"Mythical? Fantasy?"

Tubbo, who was listening intensively, tilts his head. "You mean the dragons and magic and all that? Oh- I love those Dreams. I have them too all the time!"

Wilbur began coughing. "Shit," he wheezes, "oh."

Tommy furrows his brows. "Wilbur, you alright?"

The man gasps and spurts, his hand jumping to his throat as he began looking pale. Tubbo began coughing as well, wheezing and holding his neck as if something was choking him.

Tommy began to panic, resulting in him losing his steady breathing as well. 

"G-Guys?"

He saw a bright yellow mist clouding up the entire room to the point everything just became yellow. Tubbo collapsed on the bed not so long after Wilbur fell to the floor.

Tommy struggles to keep awake with the lack of oxygen. 

But the mist only thickened to the point that he wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore.

As much as he tried to resist, Tommy closes his eyes. Leaning his head back on the office chair, he feels his last breath escape him before he fell to the darkness.

Then his eyes open.

"W-What the hell...?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW YEARS IS COMING SOOON! IM EXCITETEED 
> 
> oh yeah and christmas! Happy christmas everyone!! Happy early christmas!!!


	4. Chapter Four: Thoughts o' Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past or present in which he came. 
> 
> Fragments upon fragments till' put together.
> 
> Only then when the painting comes into light
> 
> when everything interlocks and creates anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> belated christmas!

  
  
  
_"G-Guys?"_

_He saw a bright yellow mist clouding up the entire room to the point everything just became yellow. Tubbo collapsed on the bed not so long after Wilbur fell to the floor._

_Tommy struggles to keep awake with the lack of oxygen._

_But the mist only thickened to the point that he wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore._

_As much as he tried to resist, Tommy closes his eyes. Leaning his head back on the office chair, he feels his last breath escape him before he fell to the darkness._

_Then his eyes open._

_"W-What the hell...?!"_   
  
  


"What is _this_?"

Craters, gigantesque craters full of debris littered around the areas in which his perspective could reach, possibly indicating that there were more of this destruction throughout the land. Broken and old - they were basically ancient - buildings were crumbling down, every large cemented ashy brick falling and startling Tommy with every clack, all worn and could barely be considered as a piece of shelter. No trees, not even a dead bush was in sight. No rats like he would've expected from a place such as this, and that explains the current animal predicament for this strange land.

He shudders when a cold breeze passes through his thin clothing. It wasn't exciting at all like snow or rain; the wind was as empty and dead as the land appeared to be.

Tommy steps past a wooden plank laying on the floor, before stopping to read the name that was scratched upon the surface. "L'Manburg."

Strange name, he admitted, but it was catchy. So this place must've been L'Manburg?

With faded colored flags and multiple ripped sheets that could've been posters, this land would've been quite beautiful.

He feels someone lay a hand on his shoulder, and his head whips immediately at who touched him.

"What're you doin' here, Tommy?"

A dark, but gentle deep voice asks him. Cold onyx eyes hiding behind an animal's skull - maybe a boar - and long pink hair that went past the man's waist, with a broken crown that laid on top of his head that glowed dimly underneath the sun ray's. The man's unbuttoned shirt barely could be recognized as a pale beige with slight rips on the sides and especially near his arms that were stained with... blood? Tommy takes a hesitant step back away from the stranger.

"W-Who," he stutters, "Who are you?"

The man's reaction was concealed by his mask, but the way his body tenses at his question revealed his thoughts. "You're... You're not Thomas, are you?" His voice trembled ever so slightly, but not out of fear, but of melancholic heartache. "Ha, Ha... This must be the aftermath of having not seen a person for centuries."

It was painful to hear him even speak; Tommy had never seen such sorrow in one person's voice. "Hey," he says lightly, "what happened 'round here?"

"The Wither is what happened," the man's sarcasm was as dry as a desert. Tommy had no idea what a Wither was, but by context, it must've been a creature or an event of some sort. "Whoever you are, don't try and ask what the finer details are; It's been years... and years... and years....."

"Yeah, yeah man I get it. So... L'Manburg, ay?"

The man laughs dryly. "You remind me of someone very dear to me. Got the same hair, that same face, that strange dialect and wording. You're, uh, actually here though, right? Or is this just the mind playing on my eyes."

"Eyes, man."

"Ah. I see."

A somber silence falls between them. The pink haired man takes a step back and quietly walks along the boardwalk, kicking away some of the bricks and debris that were the obstacles of his path into the large holes of abyss. Tommy looks around the empty area before opting to follow the man.

They treaded a long way through the ruins of the seaside town. Eventually after treading a hill filled side to side with large craters, they reached the top of the hill. There was something bewildering looming behind.

_Lines, and lines of graves; a vast cemetery._

The man reaches down and plucks a pale purple sheet off the ground, before continuing his way down the steep stairs. "You can pick a cloth for yourself, as there are no real flowers to pluck." Tommy halts at his recommendation and hesitantly picks up a small blue sheet as well before following his back.

They reach the graveyards. Row to row, column to column, were stones of all kinds of tombstones with names neatly soldered into the surfaces. However, what stood out were the seven marble hedges that were arranged, and kept cleaner than the rest.

The man kneels down and lays the cloth on the ground near one of the large tombstone. Tommy follows his actions, but his eyes catch the name written on the rock.

"William...?"

The man huffs. "Wilbur told me that I've never been one to be sentimental," he softly mutters, "but look at me."

Tommy stands up, his eyes reading each name from the Tombstone as it goes left to right.

_William Johnathan Georgias Nicholas Davis Clayton Thomas_

"Ay, Thomas is here. You reckon I look like Thomas?" Tommy tries to hide the fear in his voice as after all, not only he looked like the apparent Thomas, but he shared the same personage as well. The man combs his long hair, tugging slightly at the small tied knots. "Yup," he says monotonously, standing up and walking over where Tommy stood.

He lays a hand on the teen's shoulder. "Do... Do you know me?"

Tommy knows exactly who he is. He's dreamt a dream of this man and the particular group of people that now lay underneath the tombstones, but this was different - far different - from a dream. It felt too real.

They were all powerful, happy, adventurous. He only remembers dreaming of their banters from when he was just a kid, their exciting battles with creatures of the night. The feeling of being a part of something enchanting and magical; That's why Tommy couldn't help but fall asleep the moment he gets a chance. _If you could control your dreams, then you would too._

So why does this show the exact opposite?

And seven graves?

Tommy turns to the man, opening his mouth to say his thoughts but was halted when he reaches to take off his mask. The beige skull was slowly removed, revealing the man underneath.

There was a scar right in the middle of the forehead, two inches vertically. It was three centimeters thick and by what it may suggests, a large blade was impaled through the very mark.

The man, no, the Blade sees Tommy's eyes light up in fear.

"Y-You're dead already, aren't you," the question was more of a statement of truth. The pink-haired male could barely crack a smile.

"You saved me," he said, "though you do not remember."

"How?"

Blade nods. "Something went wrong."

Tommy widens his eyes. "Can you tell me?"

"But it's not safe here," he says, "do you feel it?"

There was no sensation at first touch, but the more he concentrated, a sour musky smell slowly made way to his nostrils. "Smells like death," he comments.

"It's not supposed to be the way it is; I can say the death of life looming around the land is not without reason. There is a beacon, a massive structure, drawing Pure Magic into the realm and affecting every life that breathes it in. The cause of everything's end." The last bit was said in a mocking joyous melody, only adding more weight on his words.

The blond was still quiet. Then after a pause, he asks, "Did you do it? Destroy the Beacon?"

The man froze. "No. No, I couldn't."

"Why?"

"Pure magic cannot be destroyed; It's basically the lifeline of the universe. Once interfered, or in this case, create a Beacon that draws it in, it cannot be destroyed nor touched. But I can tell you with experience that all it does is create the magic in the mobs in this world a tad bit stronger, sometimes spawning more Withers, but it's not all that bad. In fact, it's been disappearing lately so lesser work for me."

Tommy perks up at the last sentence. "Blade, the _what_ is disappearing?"

He tilts his head. "Mobs. Monsters. Creatures, or even the undead. Magical beings that want to eat souls. Though it is strange that it's been happening as magic cannot simply disperse into the air..."

His head began to spin.

"Hey, you're looking quite pale," the man notices, "you alright?"

Tommy feels fizzy.

"Y-Yeah. M' alright."

Unknowingly for Tommy, those were the last words he ever uttered before he falls into darkness once more.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Warm, very warm. Albeit a tiny itchiness, but other than that, complete comforting abliss surrounded his body. Like he had already arrived to heaven's gates and sat on their marshmallow-like clouds, with his head laid back while being served a fresh tray of fruits from the tree of life.

It made him want to continue his rest. So he did, overturning the pillow for his head and using the woolly material to block out the sounds of unfamiliar voices.

He shoots his eyes open.

He certainly did not recognize any of those voices.

And certainly, nor did he recognize any of his surroundings; A small, but ideal for tranquility, sandy-colored tent; The mattress he laid on was a woven straw mat with a soft sheet to prevent the hay to stick and poke around, also along with the pillow except for the fact that it was wool instead of just linen sheet.

He kicks the fleece blanket - also unfamiliar, and increasing his adrenaline - before stumbling to put on the random boots he found and bursting out of the tent. Instantaneously, the sun rays burned his pupils.

"Aw," he rubs his eyes annoyedly.

He hears the clanking of metal and iron along with the smell of savory fats broiling over fresh birch charcoal, which strangely relaxes his body. It was as if the scent welcomed him back to a home, to a memory that was forgotten but cherished. It was nostalgic.

He looked around at the small campsite and saw a small figure handling and wielding a large smithing hammer - it seems to be the source of the clanging - near an anvil adjacent to his tent. The figure was wearing a metal mask over their face so he couldn't have a good look at him.

Seeing as how this was the only person around, maybe they knew what was going on here.

But he hears someone come from behind, and there he sees a man looking awfully similar to a teacher that he knew quite personally. Well, it seems as if his golden hair was longer and his face a bit more unshaven, and especially the outfit was off. Other than that, he was 90% sure he knew this fellow.

"Will," the very European accent cheerily greets, "after you're done gawking 'round the camp, mind lending a hand with Blade and I on our expedition? Also, I found your hat and it looked like it needed a bit washing, so hopefully you don't mind if I took it."

Phil Watson. "Mr. Phil," Wilbur murmurs questionably. "No need to call me that as I said, Wilbur," the man said. "Make haste; We'll be heading before the sun rises above our heads."

The blond hands the hat, a bygone beret with an eagle feather poking out in the midst. "Welp, I have preparations. We'll be meeting near the... hmm. Probably near the waterfall."

"Y-Yeah. That's sound good."

"Alright! Sorry for putting this up on your shoulders, but we really need your Wilbur-esque to do this one right."

Phil gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder, before walking past and towards the figure clanging in the distance. Wilbur stood dumbfounded on everything that was dawning on his shoulders, until he hears a familiar gasp.

He whips his head. "Tommy?"

The blond had the same look as he did; confused and bewildered. "Wilbur?"

The teen was wearing a strange pale half-coat, covering the strange cleric garments showing underneath. His hair was far curlier and messier than what Wilbur remembered, and much more toner as well. They shared a strange telekinetic connection of unsaid confusion.

"Come with me," the brunet hushes under his breath, looking around for anyone might be looking before walking to the woods. Tommy followed close behind.

After reaching a clearing where they knew no one was listening, they stopped.

"What's all this - how'd we get here?" Tommy asks. "And what the hell are you wearing?"

Looking down, the man sees a orange tailcoat vest, lined with obscure stripes. A knife was strapped to his left thigh, and he had leather musketeer boots. If Tommy reacted to his outfit while Phil didn't, then this means that he and Wilbur was in the same boat. "So you're the Tommy I know," Wilbur sighs. "Listen; Was the last thing you saw a piss cloud in my room?"

Tommy nodded. "Yeah. I couldn't breathe like my lungs were getting robbed by a mugger."

Strange comparison but it fits. "Good, good. Me too. This really doesn't feel like a dream. It feels... like normal life. Suppose that we injure or die here, we wake up?"

"I wouldn't take a chance with that. If my sense of smell, sight, and touch aren't deceiving me, then surely my sense of pain wouldn't either."

"Yes, yes. Suppose so."

Wilbur fixes his beret. "For now, try not to act all too suspiciously. Apparently, it seems as if I have a journey to partake with Mr. Phil from school and uh... sword? He said something about blade, so maybe its a quest to find a sword in the woods or something."

Tommy flinches. Wilbur notices.

He does not question it, however.

"Let's head back," the blond says. "It might be better if we go along with what's happening and not dawdle meaninglessly."

"...Right."

Just before they headed back, a strange sensation washes specifically behind their ears; a cold, icy breeze brushing against the skin of the backside. Wilbur touches the base before looking around the area, compelled to do so after feeling the tingle.

Tommy, who already was on high alert, catches someone peeking behind the tree. He pokes Wilbur's side and points to the shadow.

"Who's there?" The blond calls, though immediately was smacked on the head. "You idiot; if you catch someone's eavesdropping you, then you surprise them," the older scolds, "Not give away the fact that we know that they're here!"

"Sorry! Sorry."

The shadow didn't seem to mind stepping into the light. It was... the figure with the hammer from earlier.

"Oh, hi guys," the teen waves, brushing away the dark charcoal on his leather apron. "Tubbo?" Tommy gapes before rushing over to his friend, perplexed with how relaxed and normalized the boy was.

"Tommy! I saw you earlier peeking around the tents. I wanted to ask but Mr. Phil suddenly came up all dressed weirdly and asked to do something to the broadsword," the boy hums. "Then out of nowhere, I did it all and stuff like gamer instinct. Crazy, yes it is."

"Thank god; You're Tubbo," as he was sure that no one ever used the term 'gamer' during this era, "So just the three of us, then?" Wilbur asks.

"It seems to be," the brunet nods. "So do you have any idea how to get back or... are we stuck here - I mean, it's not all that bad but I really prefer to continue classes in MCC. Does time still pass or does it stop until we get back? Eh."

"Too much questions, and not enough time to answer, Tubbo. Did... 'strange Phil' ask you anything else?"

He tilts his head. "Um, no. That's why I sought after you two. What about you?"

"He didn't come for me specifically, but said 'hello'," the blond pouted disappointedly, "so I don't have anything to do as well."

Wilbur tilts his head. "Maybe you can tag along? Especially since we don't really know our surroundings all too well, yeah."

They mutter in agreement, before eventually it was officiated as their main plan. In summary; One, stick together. Two, don't be suspicious. Three, explore.

A bird from far away, flies into the air and ripples the gentle leaves of the green foliages, telling them that they must leave now.

One last look was exchanged.

Then they returned back to the campsite.  
  
  
  
  
  


A hand reaches for _The Princess Bride by William Goldman_ , and lays the hardcover book on the _Island of Doctor Moreau_ , another book recommended by his professor of his major. But disconcertingly for his reputation, the first romantic fantasy story was a choosing of his own accord as he had read it once as a teenager and would love to read it once more.

Discreetly, he place the book underneath the others, and walks away to checkout.

The librarian's, an old woman, sixty at the maximum, beeping machine dings with every book he picks off from the vast rows of shelves. The library had a strange dusty musk but comforting smell of leather and scripts that itself created a strange addiction for those who stayed too long, like vape for the ignorant adolescent is what he'd describe it as. Maybe that was their secret for student to at least pick up a book or two; the air was laced with drugs.

"...sir?"

He snaps out of his daze caused by his inattention disorder, slightly stunned. "Oh," his deep voice murmurs before reaching out to his wallet and taking out the student ID, handing it to the woman who waited. She swipes it against the light bouncing off the laminated wooden counter, before handing it back to him and the rest of his orders. Routinely, he removes the books of his choosing from the surface and carries it in his arms, not before throwing the card back into the small carrier, and walking away from the lady without another word.

At this point, the library had became his secondary home as every day, a visit is ensured to this obscure, isolated area. A man such as him would be ashamed to admit how fond he was of this place, and especially with his aloof reputation. Books and literature in general, was his comfort, his coping mechanism.

He pushes up his glasses, ignoring the faces that walk past him in fear. He really wanted to read the Princess Bride and experience the melancholic waves surpass over his nape once again, but he supposes that feeling only occurs when he was in a depressed state and not being indifferent. _Indifference was numbing._

"U-Um, excuse me," he feels a slight tug on the hem of his cuff, and instantly he stops moving. A sophomore, at most, accompanied by a group of other similar people, called his attention.

The books in his arms felt rather heavy. "Yes?"

"So, um. M-My friend said that uh... you were..."

His head goes blank halfway, though he already knew what she was going to say. Tutoring sessions, as always. After waiting for a few more seconds to make sure she was done saying her sentence, he shakes his head. "No, I'm pretty busy at the moment."

Her face strains a smile. "Okay... that's fine.."

"... But I have space for next week. You can join me and multiple others," he said, discomforted with her saddened look. But even with his generous offer, she shakes her head, only muttering a meek, " _it's fine,_ " before running back to her waiting group of friends. He swear he catches some of them lunged a dirty eye, though he could careless for he knew that that nothing was dealt wrong and continued on the travesty for intermittent solitude he had worked hard to receive.

An independent, dependable Junior was his title. The signature trademark of his frigid oak eyes behind his noir glasses, his intimidating presence that would fill up the room instantly, along with his unnerving quietness with every attempt at socialization is what makes him stand out in the room - though instead of standing out brightly, it was his shadow that contrasted against the light. It was a wonder for others to even target him at the beginning of his semesters due to such strange atmospheric pressure that loomed his shoulders - even he acknowledges the courage that must've taken to speak with a high-chin in his face - but the competition for being the 'cool' and 'talented' student overpowered their natural instincts of fear.

He sees the group that questioned his status, and almost immediately ducks his head. He didn't feel like dealing with anyone's bullshit at this hour and especially when he was in a serene state after the library visit.

Though, his eyes interlock with the emeralds. The onyx chocolate against the bright grasses of Europe. ~~_The shit mixes with puke_.~~

His stomach tightens when they stand from their seat, and walks towards him with a smile far from simple greetings. "Hey Dave," the athletic lad pipes into his comfort bubble, which was three meters, and stands right in front of his path, intervening his current route.

"Dream. Hello."

Dream, the wonder-student, was also placed on a high tier such as he when he first arrived. Initially, Dave thought that it'd be less pressure on his end due to another person being in the spotlight, but how wrong he was; The pressure was multiplied tenfold with not only Dream always somehow challenging him in every event they're in, but the expectations of his previous 'fans' that rival the expectations for 'Asian parents' was overwhelming with every step he took.

He never really thought of it as a battle, but with as confident and prestigious as Dream was, it became a highlight of MCC throughout the years of their stay.

"So I've heard that there's gonna be a competition for 100$ in the fencing class," he says, "and I couldn't help but saw your name enlisted in the charts."

Dave raises a brow. "You think I'd pass up free money?"

Dream smirks, and Dave already knows what he'd say. "Now, now; Don't be arrogant. I decided to join as well since, you know, it'd be funny if I actually won first place."

An urge to sarcastically mutter, 'hypocritical arrogant prick', was powerful, but not enough to be said aloud.

His silence was his response. Almost seemingly unaffected by the rude and overwhelming power move, Dream takes a step back to walk away with a grin. "See you there," his voice lowers. Dave's voice, whose voice was already several octaves lower than his, said uneventfully, "yep. See you."

The moment the green hoodie disappears from sight, the awaiting group of harassers appeared. They were just a group of diehard 'Dream admirers' that harass every single person that Dream is competed against to lower their willpower, but if it wasn't for the fact that Dave lets himself down every single day, they would've been really effective due to how often they appeared to him specifically. If Dream found out about this, then even he couldn't do anything with their sheer determination to attack any 'Dream Hater'.

Not saying that Dave had some of his own, but after he harshly remarked on their actions, they've stopped for now. Dream tended to protect those who admired him but was unaware of some of the toxic buds in the garden, in which was absolutely irritating to get through every day.

Man. He just wanted to read.

It seems as if they were trying to speak to him (actually it was more insults than a decent conversation). But he had gotten bored of their words, so he simply blocked it out by thinking of what to do after reading the books.

As if a miracle was accounted, a voice scolds the crowd to leave him alone.

"Don't you have anything better to do? Get out and play outside!"

The familiar sound of his friend. He turns around and meets eye to eye with the European man in a white-and-green-striped business shirt with a decorated tie, disappointedly shaking his head and pointing elsewhere. They scattered at the sound of his anger.

Dave feels a strange lightness in his heart when he speaks to the man, like a strange feeling of recognition and devotedness. Well, the feelings are not for reason, after all.

"Hiding behind your fake-dad, stupid orphan pig?" A person from the dispersing crowd comments before running away. Laughter, disgusting laughter emits from them only for the blond to hush them angrily.

"Stop!" Mr. Phil scowls, before turning to the lad beside him. "I hate that. I hate that I can't say anything mean back on campus since I'm a professor," he shakes his head. "You alright, mate? Here, you need help carrying that to-"

"No, it's alright," his hand clutches the hard-covered books. "You can go ahead, Phil."

Oh, how he curses his being with every cell for being so weak against that one insult, even after many years it felt so raw and so burning to the touch. It wasn't his fault that he became one, so why was it such a harsh understanding to come to?

Phil was a good man, too good for his own good. "Remember that if it ever gets too much, then come straight to me."  
  
That's what he liked about Phil. He didn't underestimate his abilities, didn't think he was too sensitive and needed to be babied; He gave him space, and he could read him better than any other person in the whole school; He also wasn't annoying. Phil felt more of a friend than a father to him, or step-father in this case.

With a small grunt, he began to walk away without another word, back to the dorm room for solace. Phil watches his back disappearing into the distance, shaking his head disappointedly at helpless he was as a friend, teacher, and parent, before quietly retreating back to his own office.

"Hey Will!"

The brunet waves sheepishly. "Hello," he says, "I'm here."

The sun was rising midway over the waterfall; the light reflected and wriggles like a worm on the blue surface. It was in constant movement as every falling droplet caused a chain of ripples, like a domino in a domino line. The clear sky allowed for the blue to radiate brightly against the waters and made it inviting to jump into during a hot day.

The blond was sitting and relaxing his feet in the water, playing with the fallen leaves on his lap. "Oh," the man says in surprise, "you've brought Tommy and Tubbo?"

The three of them flinch. "Was I not supposed to?" Wilbur tilts his head. The man shakes his head, laughing. "It's just strange that you brought Thomas; you really don't collaborate well on quests. Erm, though I vaguely remember, you said that'd you'd teach him the Netherworld one day."

"Y-Yeah. Today's that day," his bullshitting was going full haywire.

"Great!"

Hearing a crunch in the woods, they all turned to see what created the noise. Phil brushes off the leaves and placed his slippers back on, waving at the shadows.

Tommy squints. Something was ruffling the leaves of the bush— a small creature? Then a flash of pink zooms past their legs and straight into the pool of water, and then squealing of a piglet hits their ears. The small animal swam around in the cool pool, giving them all smug looks.

"Oh, this isn't the time for games, Techno," Phil kneels and gently scoops the small animal into his arms and drying him with his sleeves, "well, this is who we're waiting for. Lets go."

They walked around the waterfall and to an obscure area on the rocks. A lever was hidden behind an array of foliage.

The blond brushes away the small crawling insects and plants before pulling the lever down. The mouth of the waterfall was departed by a long plank, allowing a cave to be seen underneath the harsh pools of falling water. A pathway arises from the midst of the clear waters, slightly mossy but was stable enough to step on, and the three followed him in awe as they entered the secret passageway.

Blue torches lit the halls as they walked down the array of cobblestone staircases, much hotter and brighter than regular yellow torches. A snake was seen creeping around the shadowy corner, staring with its red beady eyes and slithering its long pointy tongue in curiosity at the four humans (and piglet) as they continued downwards into the depths of the earth. The young brunet flinched at every unknown object and falling pebbles, his heart beating out of his chest. Tommy wasn't looking so well either, as his claustrophobia was swallowing him whole.

What seemed like hours, they arrived to a lounge iron door with a rustic lever next to its side. Phil pulls it down with a little more strength.

It opens slowly. The way the ground, and the whole cavern trembled worried the three that it might fall and bury them alive, but Phil only walks in and the piglet leaps from his arms.

The entire room was filled with flowing water except for the middle, in which one single path from the door led to a rectangle arch imbedded with black rocks. The arch was made out of strange glowing stones and white quartz, decorated and weaves professionally as to allow the dark rocks to touch slightly at the edges, but not so that an entire side was touching one another. After walking to the eight feet tall structure, the pig starts jumping.

"Did you bring the last piece?" Phil asks the animal. It squeals before lurching its head and puking out a large obsidian gem from its mouth.

The two kids were flabbergasted while Wilbur was straight up confused.

Taking the slimy glass, the blond latched it into a missing hole, the mucus acting as a lubricant and allowing the stone to slip in without fail.

"Wilbur, please light up the portal."

The man nods, and his eyes close. They watch as he muttered a strange language that only Tommy could barely understand strangely, and it went like this: _ahet vawes nebe kifang me uto_.

The entire portal bursts into a bright purple, sparks and a strong smell of gunpowder hits their nose. Wilbur himself suddenly opens his eyes and gaped at the works of his own doing, looking back at Tommy and Tubbo with a surprised look. "U-Uh." A strange color washes over his eyes, and his brows raise in recognition.

"Holy shit," the blond gasps. "Amazing... It's swirling," Tubbo says mesmerized.

"One day, you'll do that too," Phil says, "but you'll just stick to enchantments for now."

_"Don't do anything stupid, Thomas. If you see a Ghast, or even a piglin, you mustn't use your enchanted weapons. Just stick close and call for help, alright?"_

Wilbur said something weird. What does he mean by Ghast; or even Piglin? 

Phil gave no time to explain. "He's right, Tommy. Now enchant yourself with Fire Rés before we all enter, since you might not be used to the highest temperatures of the Netherworld."

The pig, Techno, had already leaped into the swirling mass. Phil followed right after, and his body was completely gone from the room after an illuminating purple flash, leaving the three of them standing before the portal.

"Wilbur," Tommy grabs his sleeve before the man could enter as well, notwithstanding the earlier statement that came out of the blue. "What the hell was that?"

"I-I... I think I'm remembering," he stutters, "I'm remembering. I'm remembering all these things so very slowly-- Like the life I've been living in this body... it's slowly coming back to me."

"W-What?"

Wilbur gives him a hard stare, eyes filled with revelation. But in the eyes of Tubbo and Tommy, it was filled with insanity.

_"Tommy," the man takes a deep meaningful breath, "I-I... I think I belong here."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goodnight i am very slepy. also if youve reacehed the end, then theres a drawing i made so ya
> 
> goonight


	5. Chapter Five: Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of love! Doesn't have to be Eros, but it can be familial, or Philia. 
> 
> But remember that some types of love are unhealthy, like Mania.
> 
> Only a good dose of love for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pineapples on pizza arent that bad

"So... what are we searching for, exactly?"

The fire burning below, hellscapes, and withering mourns of the trapped souls underneath the greyiosh sands neath their traveling boots that were clearly not made for this sort of environment, in which crackled with every wrong step, was the riveting walk of the Netherworlds.

Tommy, the blond who asked the question, stared at the two adults' back and pig who walked ahead of them. Despite the dryness, waterless, and absolute tyrannical columnar red ashy stones that created this world, life seemed to thrive past through the torturous circumstances. 

Though they seemed strange, including the vegetation. Tall crooked redden trees with magma sap and maroon markings, the leaves were unusually tough like the bark of an oak tree but the bark was as weak as a simple crunching leaf. Through the glass pane that covered their pathway, they saw rhinoceros hogs with whiten eyes and no pupils along with their little farrows that stumble cumbersomely near their parents, and zombified human and pig amalgamation that held chipped gold blades that simply wondered brainlessly around the grounds.

"This path, carved by a previous Sin, leads to a fortress," the experienced adventurer, Philza, replies. "I'm sure you already know of those pig-like creatures on the other side of the trench; the Woodness Hogs, and Erymanthians, or Erés for short."

"Why're we treading to the fortress?"

"To search for the Nether Seraphim.. for its bones. It also has some strength properties if you crush into powder and exhale it through the nose." 

What seemed to be finally the end of the seemingly endless glass tunnel, they reached solid ground. The Netherrack was just as ashy, and crumbly as it looked. With every step on the maroon rock, particles of red dust stuck to the bottom of their shoes like ticks on fur; Not only that, the dust made it cautionary to walk due to the lack of friction between their soles and the rock. 

"Be wary now. The glass bridge will be shielding us from the Ghasts no longer. Be prepared to fight them, along with the other land creatures 'round the area as well." Phil's long cape swishes against the ground, brushing some dust away as he continues to walk on the marked path.

They walked till they stumbled upon another terrain, a different forest instead of the bright reddish trees. Blue now, is what it was, and a bright blue shroom with orange spots. Tommy widens his eyes when he makes eye to eye contact with a blue and orange fungus, a strange recollecting feeling like nostalgia washing over him- Like a memory from before was unlocked. 

He didn't want to tell Tubbo of the strange feeling and was lucky that no one noticed his pause and small gasp. _Though, someone did_. 

A bush - which was also as cyan as the rest of the foliage around them - rustles. Then just as quickly and before any of the young teens realized, Phil had already drawn out a sharp glowing trident, and Wilbur had already stood in front of them out of instinct. "Watch out," the brunet said, "there's something there."

Waiting a moment for whatever creature to come out was dreadfully long.

Then, a tall, bony, withering figure as noir as the cloudy nights, using its tall deformed human-like legs, steps over the bush to right before the group, its violet scintillating orbs looking down on them all like a bunch of insects. Tubbo's heart races at the utterly terrifying creature; it had no mouth at all, and two beady pinpricks that stared directly into his dark orbs. It was so utterly deformed and ugly, its fingers as thrice as long as its thin palm, and a crooked back that made it slouch over with its ebony visible ribs. Its legs were backwards, its feet resembling a stub - no feet at all, like a spider with its legs - and its arms so long that it made up over half of its height.

"DON'T LOOK!"

Tubbo was too late. A strange captivation called his heart to stare into the abyss of the creature, a terrifying thrill of curiosity. 

Then the sound, oh the nightmarish sound. 

What sounded like a rising screech of an eagle, mountain lion, and human amalgamated into one, the shrieking cry rang through the forest like a predatory horn. They covered their ears in pain, but quickly Phil punctures through the face of the creature with the glowing trident, shoving it so far that strange substances followed through the other side of the impalement. It dripped, the dark violet blood, down the man's hands and to the grasses below.

"Why did you look at it?" Asks Phil like a worried, but furious parent. Tubbo stutters. "I-I didn't mean to."

Before them the bushes rustle, and the breezeless air foretold them another disaster. His trident, now clean of the Endigo's blood, wavers to the unknowing threat while the other pulls out a strange book from inside his vest. 

Vibrant, threatening eyes. Not just one pair.

Without warning, a hoard scrambles out the bushes and towards all of them on all fours with gaping stretched openings on their faces, approaching unpredictably from their adjacent visions.

Tommy hear a cry from behind him - a cry from Tubbo.

"TUBBO!"

"TOMMY!" The boy cries out before being pulled into the foliages by the terrifying noir creatures. Blindly and without any thought, the blond races desperately into the woods and ignoring the shouts of anger coming from the other two adults.

Thorns, bushes, and sharp twigs became dangerous obstacles as they tore through his clothes and piercing some of his skin and drawing pinpricks of blood, but hearing Tubbo's fearful shrieks and the Endigo's ravenous howl only fueled his legs to burn hotter as they tore through the vines, his body burning with anger and anxiety.

"Help me!" Tubbo cries aloud as he attempts to perpetuate against the strangling hold of the nightmarish form. He kicks his leather blacksmith boots against the sturdy bended legs, his hand scratching against the arms of the creature. Though in the end his efforts remained worthless as it angered the creature even more.

Its breath smelt of rotting wood, and oh can he smell it with every inch that the face neared closer to his head. The mouthless mouth stretches into a shredded skinned opening on its face, revealing rows upon rows of carnivorous teeth as dark as the rest of its body.

He hears Tommy rushing out of the bush near to him, and sees him suddenly ram and lunge at his body causing both of them to be knocked down to the floor and out of the Endigo's grasp.

"RUN!" Tommy gave him to time to breath before grasping his wrist and scrambling back to the trees.

The Endigo disappears from behind them before suddenly appearing in front of their escapade's path. 

It lunges.

Then, a bristling, tremendous waves of hot scorching fire appeared before them, then appeared a shadow in the midst of the heavy gray smoke. The sound of a sword being withdrawn from its sheath, then the gargling noise of the Endigo being sliced in half, then finally the sound of the Endigo disappearing into a gust of wind entered the air. 

Tommy and Tubbo covered their faces and waved at the clogging air. But out of nowhere, a sword slices through the fog and aimed straight at both of their faces.

The smoke clears and a familiar, ever so familiar face, gleams at both of them with righteous anger.

Thomas recognizes him immediately, but _**he**_ did not share the same sentiment. "You're not Thomas," the deep voice states, "and Tobias as well."

Techno, no longer as a small pig, towered with his decorated glowing armor and kingly robes against the two feared teenagers. His brows was furrowed with stern judgement, his broadsword unyielding and had no intention to remove itself from their faces.

His eyes were glowing strangely, like it was staring right into their souls. "Who are you?" He takes a step forward, but they take a step backward. "Tell me."

"P-Please don't hurt us," Tubbo pleads.

The man's eyes narrow. "Tobias was never afraid of me." He could feel his heart seize up when they made eye contact, his brown orbs against illuminating onyx.

"Techno," Tommy moves in front of his friend, trying to ignore how close the sharp blade was to his head, "hear of what we have to say."

"Your soul is similar, yet so different," he hears him mutter.

"What?"

The blade quivered slightly. "... Though, you are not him at all, like a flawed mirrored reflection. You do not hold the pride in his eyes, just unconfident and meekness that just somehow ticks me off even more."

Then the strange glow in his eyes disappear, and the blade was lowered from their necks. "I don't gain anything from slaughtering you, though you gain everything if you tell me who you are," he pressurizes, though his voice remained unshaken. "If I tell you the truth, even then you wouldn't believe me," Tommy said.

"Try me," Techno demands.

"Fine!" 

Tubbo, strangely, knew he was shitting his pants. Not by smell, but by instinct and knowledge to know that Tommy was one to bark than bite, to bite off more than he could chew. Tommy's hand clenched his wrist, seizing and clogging up the circulation to his palm, and sweating harder than a llama in a desert. 

"..."

Then five minutes of silence later, Techno says, "You're unsure. You do not know either."

"How'd you know?"

"A lucky guess only confirmed by your reply just now. You... aren't shapeshifters sent by Wrath, are you?" Then he mutters to himself, "but your souls cannot be exactly replicated like an illusion... and I made sure that'd he'd stop going after you two."

Who is Wrath? And why does he speak of such disdain towards them?

A question that was about to be asked, except for the fact that Tubbo had fallen unconscious and collapsed straight on the ground beside him.

Tommy leaned and desperately tries to shake him awake. 

_Why does he suffer so much every time he transfers into another realm?_

He feels a hand grasp his collar, not realizing that he was losing feeling in this body as well.

"Hey, what happened?"

Techno lifts his head, seeing Phil carrying Wilbur's body over his shoulder through the bushes. 

The three of them were unconscious.

There was something strange happening, Techno knew. The moment he saw three of them together. _There was a yellow streak in their souls..._

The strange glow, the activation of his abilities shown in his eyes, closes off. "Nothin'," he said as he easily lifts both on his shoulders. "Lets head back."

Phil, the magicless but the renowned inventor, knew that he was hiding something.

But no, he did not question it at all. 

"George, what do you think of this flower?"

"... Huh?"

"Like, what must you make of these petite blue petals, so small and simple? How what seems to be another small yellow flower blooming near it's bud, and how they are grouped like little grapes?"

He twirls the bunch of small flowers in his hands, the sky-like flowers that were as big as the man's thumb and nothing bigger, and his big smile that laid proudly on his features. George notices but turns away, his eyes choosing to wander somewhere else.

A small brush was felt behind the locks of his ear, and something light was laid upon it. 

"That's quite nice on you, eh?" The man laughs. 

A red flush, as bright as the flowers around them, appears on the ex-prince's cheeks. Within a heartbeat his hand had left to remove the flower from his hair and into the confines of his smaller palms. 

He could strangely feel the man's heart drop. "... Sorry, do you not like it?"

He didn't want to feel anything towards it. "... There's more around you," George quietly says. But a small jingle came from his hands, and a bright happy gasp came from the other man.

"You! Did you just petrify my flower?!"

He was lightly slapped and ignored.

"That's a love language, George," the man says fondly despite the small sting on his arm, "I'm sure you haven't heard of the five languages, though."

"..."

"The first love language is words; You tell someone such as, 'I love you', or compliments and support to show them your love. Second, is actions; such as words, though instead of telling them, you hug or show physical affection. Next is service, where you do small chores without their request or small tasks to ease their burden to display love. Then, last is personal time and attention, where simply going on walks or having talks is how you'd show your love."

"... That's only four."

"You were listening?!"

George goes quiet once more.

Another small snap rings through the air, and another brush through his hair. "The last one's gifts."

George had turned his head to reject the flower being weaved in his hair, now since long grown ever since he'd taken the adventure, but was caught in the eyes of the other man who stared ever so intensely into his. "I guess you could say it's also my love language," his voice deep and tender, dare say, even husky.

If his cheeks were already as red as fire, then his face became as bright as the Nether's volcanoes. 

George quickly turns away. "W-Well, what's my love language?"

He leaned back. "I don't know! That's up to you to learn, which I would very much so recommend. Love ties strongly, or in general, emotions with our specific type of magical element. Druids have their connected source to nature and natural life; Clerical magic goes with the spiritual sense of the user's faith; and lastly, dark magical elements ties with every single magical thing. That is why dark magic is considered strong."

George goes into thought. "Why not practice dark magic if it's so powerful?"

As if he was triggered by those words, his voice went low. "Because dark magic is heartless," he said with distaste. "It strips, squeezes the magic out of a magical creature and use their life source as their fuel. That's why you'd see more humans than elves or shapeshifters using dark magic, as humans have a lesser chance to be born with a magical sense. That's why human users such as you and me, must stay and learn together to help combat this wicked form of magic. Magic isn't cruel; magic is selfless... And promise me, George, that'd you would never try and become like the ones who fall into that path."

The man did not say this out of rumor, but of experience. George noticed how raw his voice trembled and how his shoulders shook, how his grip on the stems was suffocating the flowers.

Laying a hand on the man's knee, George quietly says, "I promise."

He smiled though it never reached his eyes.

"Anyway! Instead of all this sad stuff, I wanted to teach you about this flower."

He gave another piece to George. "It's called a forget-me-not. Stories say that a man was to pick the flower for his lover as they treaded on the sides of a river, but alas slipped and was swept away. His last words to her was to remember, to forget him not. The meaning of this flower means to remember after passing, the power of memory and love."

Love was such a strange word to George, but after the few months that he had traveled and explored with this man, he was beginning to understand what this 'love' might be. 

_He felt love around this man. Though, he was unsure what kind of love it was._

"Promise after my death, you'd continue on and learn more than I could ever learn. Two promises with our two pinkies, alright?"

Death?

"What do you mean by death?" George asks. The man, too, was caught off guard with his wording. "Haha, I mean, never mind death. Just... promise that you'd continue on with your adventure even if I'm not there with you."

His pinkies were intertwined with George's, his arms crossed and lifting it his hands up childishly. "Pinky promise!"

_You make me feel everything._

George smiled. "Pinky promise."

_I can't promise if I lose you._

The sun was setting. Rays of beautiful maroon and azure, lemon and violet, shaded clouds that would soon come to swallow the lights of day. The man stands from the leisurely grassy tops, his head turning behind to the tamed animals that grazed back. "It's time to sleep. It's a long way to Vales." Though, he hesitates to move to the campsite, as he lends his hand to the prince who takes it a few seconds after.

Nightly preparations were made for tomorrows journey.

The great kingdom of Vales.

A kingdom whose land thrives with the richest grains, the healthiest livestocks, and the strongest citizens. Only word of mouth say that the Crowned Guards had all magic imbedded into their weapons, armory, hell, even food to provide them of their daily nutrients and more.

Even the patrolling and gate soldiers were stronger than strongest guard of the other kingdoms. Men and women of advanced natural abilities, the best of the best of the best were only accepted into the division, and only the best. No disabilities, no imperfections, and simply, nothing that'd weaken the chain of the greatest army of the whole land.

"Heya Nicholas. What brings you to the library today?"

The Crowned Paladin freezes in his spot when he hears the soft huff from the librarian. Books of magic, spells, and relics' history in scribes all in the space that his arms could carry at the moment, and how strange it was to see the man swarm himself into literature of his own status. Sheepishly, the man said, "Hi there... Zed."

"It's Sed."

"... Promise that you wouldn't snitch to the council?"

A stoic face was held for a moment before breaking into a relaxed grin. "Why would I ever turn away my only visitor? Just don't make a mess that I have to clean up and I'll leave you to your..." their eyes trailed to the books in the hands, "... scavenge."

"Yes. Thank you!"

Nicholas, the renowned guard, quickly runs away with books in hand and away from the librarian who simply shakes his head and walked away.

Now, with Nicholas, this guard is far from ordinary. His abilities? Better, slightly better than the rest of his peers. His intelligence? Well, let's just say that he is more brute than brain. 

But what separates him from anyone else was the magic that lived inside of him. So bright, so powerful - so uncontrollable like lightning in a bottle.

He learned this when he had his first coronated promotion. Not so long ago actually, so that's the reason to his enthusiasm as a guard who had the highest fatality rate.

" _Vinde_ ," he closes the door without his hands, and stomps the whole stack of books on his table. Flipping through one of them page by page, he searches for the answers he wants to know of. "... The Gardened Woods carries the red spotted mushroom... alright. That's where the next expedition is heading to, so maybe I can grab some while they aren't looking?"

He ponders but didn't dwell long on the thought.

He hears a knock on the door. " _Iluz Vinde_ ," he whispers to the air, before answering the door with a smile. "Hello?"

His smile drops at who it was, and immediately he stood proper and straight. "General. What brings you here?"

The woman looks into his room and saw how the curtain fluttered strangely and how the sheets weren't made, but she simply acknowledges the guard before her. "You haven't packed?" She said in her kind, motherly tone, obvious that she didn't really carry any weight on the message.

Obviously, Nicholas nods. "Yes."

"We're leaving tomorrow, and you're to be expected on the searching party as we deliver the king's... gifts," she noted, "and be wary as well. Our surviving messengers and scouts had reported signs of... Wrath around the Gardened Woods. We must take extra caution and no distractions."

The general was like a mother to him, and from her tone, she meant that he shouldn't stop to get anything for himself to bring. "Yes ma'am."

She turns to leave, though she pauses. "...And Nicholas?"

"Yes?"

"Please make your bed. That's the first step to being a Crown Guard."

"Got it!"

A small smile appears on her face before it disappeared from the large wooden door. 

Nicholas let out a deep concentrated breath and walked around the room. "So no distractions. Clean up bed. Stay watchful of Wrath... No distractions."

His magic washed away revealing the books that were hidden from the curtains that were constantly brushed in their view. 

He couldn't help the wanting to learn more, to learn more about all the things in this world. Materialistic or not, he would stomach the information like a sponge.

"... Maybe just one mushroom," he promises himself. "Just one."

_His hand brushes away the slightly curly locks of the sleeping dark brunet, his eyes solemnly watching the restful even breaths that rise and tremble the ground ever so slightly._

_He could feel his life in of itself, fading away. It was getting weaker by the seconds that passes by, the small brushes of the trees, and the scurrying of smaller creatures that passed by._

_~~Equivalent exchange, you must give something of equality to receive your desired outcome.~~_

_Closing his eyes, he whispers._

_Then he leaves the camp after writing a simple note on the log. He walks into the forest, deeper and deeper without bothering to recognize the surroundings, as he could feel his other half waiting for him in the midst._

_He arrives to the great tree of the Gardened Woods. The trunks that had lived past all generations of human and elf existence, now resident to only the chosen creatures._

_He hears the brush of a small twig out of place behind him, and there he turns to meet the emotionless smiley._

_"You're starving, brother," they said, walking around his figure, their eyes looking up and down at his appearance. "And I see you've gotten another... plant to harvest from. An expensive that you've planted into that unsuspecting boy's head."_

_Even without seeing through their cover, he could see the mocking smile underneath. "But why are you ravenous? So frail... your magical element is at its weakest I've seen in the years of our lives... It's as if you didn't harvest the juicy fruit at all."_

_Fruits. How odd the comparison was._

_It was more of livestock._

_"Are you trying to die, brother?" They asked with an amused huffed breath at the end._

_He clenches his fists. "I've changed my ways," he said. "Even if it makes me weaker, I know that this choice I've created months ago... was correct."_

_They let out a small wheeze. "I looked up to my dear older half, but this? You're so much more than this! You manipulated, watched the lives of plenty as you ripped their emotions in half, and this was your best plant in the garden yet... you talk of giving up? Of this glorious life?"_

_"There was a dream that I had."_

_"Aw... Did you think such sentimental crap would stop a great man like you?"_

_"You'd never understand. I've experienced something that you never had, a virtue instead of sin." A crossbow, runes that glowed on the handles and tips, was pointed at the masked being. "I learned that this sort of magic- dark magic - would be our very own downfall. We mustn't use it for our selfish gains, we have to explore and spread its positivity instead of the opposite!"_

_" **Virtue**. You're one of them," they spat. _

_The man didn't back down. "A few months ago, I have became a Virtue. Do you see? Can you compare us?"_

_His clothing, rich and colorful, contrasted against the being's ripped, stained rags that laid on his shoulders. They clicked their tongue._

_"I learned of how dark magic can be used - How it will forever affect this life as we know it."_

_"... You've taught that prince how to fight against it?"_

_"Yes. To stop people like us, to stop people like you."_

_They then bursted into laughter at the accusation, their shoulders shaking as they held their stomach. "O-Oh the story! The melodrama! When the prince realizes that you're nothing but the thing you've taught him to kill, and what? - Are you going to point a dagger at your throat and ask his soft hands to push it through your flesh?"_

_"Yes."_

_"You didn't even hesitate. You hate me. You hate us?"_

_"You... We hurt. We only exist to hurt. It'd be better to rid of all of us, than to let it bloom and let it become a monster like you."_

_They removed their mask._

_The man stares into the mirrored reflection. The same emerald eyes, the same dirty blond hair. The same face features, the same everything. Though, the only difference that they had was that one had the look of insanity, while the other in determination._

_"I would kill you again, again, and again dear older half. But that'd never work. You'd raise from the dead and be there with your moronic face of falsified heroism, attempting to fight what you think is evil."_

_A large axe was conjured from out of thin air. As the crossbow aimed for the heart, the axe was ready to crack open into the skull._

_"But it'd break you more... If your little blossom had forever quit the search of his love. Love, right? It's stronger than... wrath if I'd dare say. What a troublesome man if he'd learn of such concept."_

_"You'd," the man scowled, "have to kill me to get past."_

_Their eyes widened in pleasure and hysteria._

_"Let's see then, other half. Let's see!"_

George wakes up alone.

George wakes up feeling nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its pretty good and its not shamfeufls to admit
> 
> also unedited

**Author's Note:**

> did i tell you that this isn't gonna be romantic


End file.
